


Hedge Knight

by Aetherschreiber



Category: Mystic Knights of Tir Na Nog (TV)
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Epic Battles, Family, Gen, Is anyone even in this fandom?, Like 20 years old, Mystery, Team as Family, Very Old Plot Bunny, hidden past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetherschreiber/pseuds/Aetherschreiber
Summary: The solstice is a tough time of year for Angus. And it's made worse by the sudden visit of a stuck-up lord from one of Kells' furthest villages, who clearly doesn't approve of him. Circumstances spin out of control, leading to history, myth, battles, and revelations about the past of the Mystic Knight of Earth.





	1. Chapter 1

The winter in Kells was already turning out to be a colder one than normal. A thin layer of snow covered the normally green fields on the border between Kells and Temra. And it was still falling, large fluffy flakes drifting on the wind as they gently, silently fluttered to the ground.

It would have been a pleasant scene if not for the pitched battle taking place.

Perched atop Pyre, the Fire Dragon of Dare, Rohan wheeled over the battlefield. He had a momentary respite and was able to take stock of the fighting below him. The indigo-clad warriors of Temra were struggling to maintain a meager shield wall against the onslaught of his three compatriots and the Kells warriors supporting them. Despite the angry shouting of the Temra commander, Torc, the Temra line was retreating step by hesitating step. Angus, Deirdre, and Ivar had them well under control.

The real threat was up here, in the air, with Rohan and Pyre. The Mystic Knight of Fire pulled his attention back to the snow-filled sky. Tyrune, the three-headed dragon that was under the control of Queen Maeve of Temra, was heading back in their direction with murder in his six eyes.

"It's up to us, now, Pyre!" Rohan called to his impossibly legendary mount, readying his sword. In response, Pyre gave a short roar and wheeled around, heading directly toward his counterpart. The distance between them closed impossibly fast. As soon as they were within range, Rohan fired off a few blasts of fire from his sword. Pyre joined in with his flaming breath. The bursts landed straight in one of Tyrune's three heads, causing the creature to buck wildly to the side, veering away. He whipped his tail out at Pyre as he turned, barely missing Rohan and causing him to duck.

And then, it seemed, the beast had had enough. Rather than wheel around again and make his way in for another strafing run, Tyrune flew off into the distance, back towards Temra castle.

From the ground, Rohan could hear Torc giving a frustrated cry of anger. Something about a worthless, cattle-stealing lizard.

Seeing their great beast driven off, the Temra soldiers' morale fell to a new low and Rohan could tell even from this height that it wouldn't take much more to send them scattering. Rohan patted the back of Pyre's neck, affectionately. "Let's give 'em one more reason to run and leave Kells' boarders in peace," he said to the dragon.

Obligingly, Pyre tipped downward and fell into a dive, directly at the line of Temra soldiers. He flew over them, just barely clearing the points of their spears. And with a mighty flap of his wings, he sent a gust of wind bowling them over. It was the final push they needed and as Pyre climbed back into the sky, the Temra soldiers broke ranks and ran, streaming past their cursing commander. Angrily, Torc turned his horse and followed after them.

The Kells soldiers sent up a loud cheer as Pyre wheeled back around. "That did it!" Rohan agreed. "Good job, my friend. Now, let's land and see what the damage is, eh?"

In response to this, Pyre gave a petulant snort and bucked back upward, making to turn back toward his own cave.

"Hey now, c'mon," Rohan said to him, "you've always landed to let me off before. What's wrong with you?" He twisted and leaned on his perch on the dragon's back, trying to coax him to the ground, but the beast refused to land. "What, is it the snow? Pyre, it's not  _that_  bad. You're a  _fire_  dragon. It'll melt under your feet."

Pyre gave another rebellious snort, but finally relented and came lower to the ground. He stopped before he could land, though and hovered in the air for a moment. He let loose a blast from his breath, carving out a blackened circle on the ground in the midst of all the white. It was just big enough for the dragon to land in and Rohan could feel warmth radiating up from the ground.

"Or, I suppose you could do that," Rohan muttered as he climbed off of Pyre's back. The dragon then curled up atop his warm circle, but still gave Rohan a look that said he was on the ground in these circumstances only under protest.

"Looks like Ivar and Pyre have something in common," Deirdre said as the three other Mystic Knight approached their leader and the dragon, "they both aren't fond of Kells' winter cold."

"Can't say I'm terribly fond of it, myself," Angus groused from the back of the group, "you'd think that with the cold setting in, Maeve would get frozen out of attacking."

"This is not cold," Ivar said, trying and failing not to shiver, "this is an ungodly frozen hellscape that man was not meant to inhabit. Why do people live where the air makes your face hurt?"

"C'mon, Ivar," said Rohan, "it's not  _that_  bad. We've seen much colder winters than this in Kells before, even if it is a little colder than normal."

Behind him, Pyre gave a growl and a plume of smoke shot out of his nostrils, encompassing Rohan in a cloud that he had to wave away, coughing.

"I agree with the dragon," Ivar said, wryly.

Pyre nudged Rohan with his snout. "Oh all right, you big hatchling," Rohan said to him, "the day is won. Go on home to your cozy cave."

The dragon didn't need to be told twice. He was already back on his feet before Rohan had finished his sentence and with a strong flap of his wings, he took to the air and was on his way back toward his cave without a second thought.

"I think Pyre's got the right idea," said Angus, shouldering his mace, "someplace warm sounds great about now."

"And we should get the men somewhere warm, too," Deirdre commented.

"Back to town it is," said Rohan.

Though they were tired, the soldiers were all too happy to gather together and be on the march once again. It would be several hours before they returned to the town outside of Kells castle. The whole time, Rohan would move through the battalion, holding up his flaming sword to allow the soldiers to warm their hands, even if just for a moment.

* * *

The town of Emain Macha was named for the goddess of battle and horses. Legend had it that it was situated over the very place that Macha had been drafted into a race against horses by her drunken, wagering, loudmouth of a husband.

Macha had won, of course, even in spite of being pregnant at the time. It was a point of pride for the women of the town. And it was fantastic leverage for them to get husbands who had overindulged the night before to get up out of their beds to get to work.

 _If Macha could best horses while pregnant, you can till the soil with a headache_ , was a favorite saying.

So, upon the battalion's return, the town was ready and waiting for them. Fires had already been stoked against the night and the cold in the square and food prepared for the soldiers. The ones who were wounded were tended to promptly and the ones who were not going to be returning to the castle that night were found proper lodgings.

When news of the battalion's victory had been shared with the town, the meal for the soldiers turned into a celebratory feast for all. Even more food appeared and barrels of mead were tapped.

Ivar wasn't really sure what to make of the honey wine. It was very sweet and felt like it coated his throat. But it was also very,  _very_  strong. The few times he had partaken of it since coming to Kells, he had forced himself to nurse just one tankard all night, hoping that no one would notice. There was something about the drink that seemed to act faster than any wine he was used to.

Luckily, he had an excuse, tonight. Presently, he was surrounded by several of the town's children, all circled around one of the fires. He was regaling the children with tales of the battle field. And then, one particularly precocious youngling had challenged Ivar to tell them a story that none of them had ever heard. So, he had turned to telling them tales from his homeland. To Ivar they were old and familiar, even childish. But to the kids, they were new and exotic. Their eyes lit up as they listened, entranced.

Eventually, though, the excitement drew the children off to other things, one by one, and soon Ivar found himself free to wander the celebration. Musicians were playing near the largest of the bonfires and dancing had begun, a quick, bouncing, energetic dance that had smiles plastered on the faces all participating and all watching. Among them, he spotted both Rohan and Deirdre, thoroughly enjoying themselves. The townsfolk, too, were enjoying their presence, frequently toasting the Princess of Kells, Draganta, and the Mystic Knights.

He suddenly realized that there was one face missing from the crowd. Angus wasn't normally one to bow out of a party, especially when he was one of the heroes being celebrated. With so many lovely and grateful ladies about, Angus usually allowed his roguish roots to show a little more than normal. But tonight was different. Tonight, Angus was sitting by himself near one of the smaller fires on the edge of the square, alone and staring at the flames with a small tankard in hand and an unhappy expression on his face. Ivar hadn't seen such a dark cloud over his friend since the time several weeks ago where Angus and Rohan and been getting on each other's nerves.

Resolving to do something about the former-thief's mood, Ivar made his way over and sat down on the log near the fire, next to Angus. The Mystic Knight of Earth didn't respond except to glance up from the fire and give a short nod. When it became clear that Angus wasn't going to say anything, Ivar decided to break the ice.

"You seem down, my friend," he said, "even amidst all this mirth. Is something the matter?"

"Nah," Angus replied with a dismissive bob of his head, "just thinking about things. Nothing important." He lapsed back into silence, his eyes never having left the fire.

"Well, it seems important to you," Ivar pressed, gently, "is there anything that I can do?"

Angus gave a snort of a laugh, one corner of his mouth twitching upward and then falling again. "That'd be a neat trick," he mumbled. Then he sighed and leaned back, his gaze moving to the trees reflecting the flickering firelight before above them. "No, there isn't anything anyone can do. Just... old stuff, that's all."

"Ivar, Angus!" Deirdre's voice floated over to them from the main part of the revel. Angus glanced up and then looked back to the fire. Ivar turned and saw both the princess and Rohan heading their way.

"Probably just tired," Angus said around another sigh. Then he got up, stretching out stiff muscles. "Think I'm going to call it a night." He left, heading for the hut he shared with Rohan just before Deirdre and Rohan reached them. Ivar stood and watched him disappear inside as Rohan and Deirdre came to a halt next to him.

"What's with him?" Deirdre asked, her voice equal parts insulted and concerned.

"He wouldn't tell me," Ivar said with a shake of his head, "but something is bothering him."

"Ah, it's the time of year," said Rohan, "he gets like this for a few days each year, right around the solstice."

"Why?" Deirdre asked.

"He's never told me," Rohan said with a shrug, "ever since I met him, the first part of winter, he's just... sad. Old memories of something, I suppose. It's best to leave him be."

"Are you sure?" Deirdre asked. "What could be so bad that he won't even tell his best friend?"

"Nah, he just gets worse if you press," Rohan said with a shake of his head, "he'll be back to his normal self in a few days. Just leave him to his thoughts." With that, Rohan ushered both of them back to the revel.

Unbeknownst to them, perched in the branches of the tree above, tiny wings tucked in close to guard against the cold, a much smaller figure had been watching their friend for far longer than they had. The fairy Aideen had noticed Angus' mood nearly from the start of the celebration and had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on the mystic knight. At first she had been worried that he was sick or injured after the battle. But it wasn't long before she had figured out that Angus' trouble was nothing physical. So she had kept her distance, knowing the wound it would be to his pride to be called out on it.

After covertly listening to the conversation between the other three knights, Aideen found herself even more concerned. She didn't want to intrude, but her worry got the better of her. She jumped from the tree branch and took to wing, flittering toward Rohan and Angus' hut. Silently, she lighted on the edge of the small window, covered against the cold with a careworn pelt. This she pushed aside and quietly crept into the hut, keeping in the shadows of the lantern that was casting a pale light.

Angus had already wrapped himself up in the furs and blankets on his cot, his face to the wall. At first, Aideen thought that he was shivering against the cold that lingered on blankets before they warm up from your body. But then she heard distinctly a suppressed sob. It was followed by another a minute or so later and then there was a carefully quieted sniffle.

Her heart broke. She had never seen Angus like this before. Aideen wanted so badly to light on his shoulder and say something -  _anything_  - to help. But she recalled Rohan's words and thought better of it. Instead, she quietly flew over to a table where there was a wool cap laying. She wasn't going to bother him, but she wasn't going to leave him alone, either. Wrapping the cap around her like a blanket, Aideen settled in and kept watch until they had both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning was brisk, but the warmth of the fire in the Kells castle throne hall went a long way to helping. Even so, Deirdre had chosen some of her warmer clothing for the day; a white linen shift under a burgundy dress of wool with creatures embroidered around the hem, neck, and cuffs. When the chill became too much even for this, she pulled a gold-colored cloak over her shoulders and held it close for a while.

King Conchobar, her father, had called all four Mystic Knights to the castle to go over the details of the previous day's battle. It was the usual routine. Rohan described the tides of battle, Ivar gave accounting of the number of Temra soldiers there had been, Deirdre herself reporting in on the number of injured soldiers afterward.

Absent, however, was the usual addition of Angus adding color to the stories. As unnecessary as the embellishments were, Deirdre had to admit that they made these meetings less monotonous. Even though the battle had been an easy victory for Kells, the absence of Angus' input made the whole thing seem dour.

From her seat to her father's right, Deirdre's eyes drifted to the empty chair that Angus usually occupied, then to the window where the former-thief was presently perched. He had one foot resting on the window casement and the other dangling down against the wall. His chin was resting on one hand and he stared off into the distance, as if not even present in the room.

Conchobar kept glancing over at Angus, then back to the other Knights. It was clear that he was missing the usual wisecracks, himself. At one point, the king even looked over at Rohan, a silent question in his eyes with a glance at Angus. Rohan shook his head and waved him off with a bit of an awkward shrug.

Not one to be deterred, the king turned his gaze back to the Mystic Knight of Earth.

"Angus have you anything to add?" he asked. No response was forthcoming.

"Angus?" Ivar prompted, still getting no response.

Rohan cleared his throat loudly, grunting out Angus' name once more as he did. This finally got his attention.

"Huh?" he said, his head snapping around to look at the group. "S-sorry, what?"

"My father asked if you had anything to add," Deirdre informed him, sounding a little shorter than she had intended to.

"Uh, no," Angus replied, lighting back on the floor again and wandering over to lean against the back of his chair. "No, nothing to add. I... I think they've covered it well enough." He looked away, shifting slightly under the combined scrutiny of all assembled.

Rohan turned back to Conchobar and gave an apologetic look. The king pursed his lips and gave a sigh.

"Well, then, I suppose that is that," he said, coming to his feet. The other Knights did likewise.

"I've, uh... I've got to see to... something," Angus said, "please, excuse me, my king." He gave a bow and then turned and left the hall.

There was a long silence as the other four stared after him.

"I never thought I'd see the day that Angus practiced courtly graces," Conchobar said, "is he ill?"

"Apparently, it's the time of year," Deirdre replied, adjusting her cloak and pinning it in place with an annular brooch at her neck.

"There's something about it that's hard for him," Rohan explained, "I'm sorry for the way he's acting, my king. Please, I ask patience for his sake."

"It's awful to see him like this," Ivar said, "are you certain there is nothing to be done?"

"Well, this year he does seem a little worse than normal," Rohan allowed, "but the solstice festival tomorrow should start to bring him around."

"Well, I sincerely hope so," said Conchobar, making his way to the throne and sitting, "as a Mystic Knight, the fate of Kells depends on him."

"Worry not, your majesty," Rohan said, "I'll look after him."

"So, nothing unusual then," Deirdre commented.

"Princess, he does look after me as much as I look after him," Rohan defended his best friend, "he's like my brother. A troublesome little brother, maybe, but... still."

Deirdre gave a knowing smile and lighted in the smaller seat at the right hand of the throne. It was one of the things she liked most about Rohan. He was unerringly loyal, almost to a fault; to his friends, his king, his brothers in arms, even a distrustful thief that everyone else in Emain Macha and Kells Castle had dismissed as a common criminal.

A guard entered the throne hall and gave a bow. "My king," he said, "a visitor has asked an audience with you. Lord Cet mac Magach of Cluain Bolg."

"Cluain Bolg?" Deirdre said, surprised. "That's one of Kells' farthest villages."

"Yes," Conchobar said thoughtfully, "far to the west, on the border with Temra, but not in the general path of the war, too far removed to be of any strategic value. Show him in."

The guard bowed and then left momentarily to return ushering in a man around the king's age. His hair was dark and well-kept and he wore a tunic of a deep green and a furred cloak of grey clasped at the shoulder with an iron annular broach. He came forward and bowed to Conchobar.

"Welcome, Lord Cet," the king said, "we must say, We are surprised you have made the journey all the way here. What brings you?"

"I come to pay my respects, my king," said Cet, "I am late made lord of Cluain Bolg and I deemed it appropriate to come and pledge my services. Also, to bring word of the farthest flung regions of your boarder with Temra."

"We are pleased that you have come," Conchobar said, coming to his feet and extending his right arm toward Cet. The lord took it and they clasped arms warmly. "My daughter, Deirdre," he then said, motioning to her, the moved on to the others. "Prince Ivar of the far south, and Rohan, the-"

"The warrior Draganta!" Cet said in excitement, extending a hand to Rohan. "Tales of your heroism have traveled swiftly even to my far-flung village."

Rohan took the proffered hand and gripped it strongly, giving an uncomfortable smile. "Well, I hardly do it alone. I'd be lost without the other Mystic Knight, the princess, Ivar, and Angus, of course."

"Oh, yes, the one they call Angus Dubh!" Cet said. "I had hoped to meet  _all_  of the Mystic Knights, yet I don't see him in your court, my king."

As Cet's attention turned back to the king, Rohan, Deirdre, and Ivar shared a puzzled look. Angus Dubh? Angus the Black? Who called him that? They each realized quickly that the others didn't have any idea whatsoever.

"Angus is on personal business," said the king, "likely going back to his home in the village of Emain Macha."

"Ah, seeing to his manor, then."

Confused looks all round again.

"No," Deirdre hazarded, "he lives in the village itself."

"Governing the village, then?" Cet asked.

"N-no," Ivar put in, "he's... just Angus."

It was Cet's turn to look confused as silence descended on the hall. He looked from one face to another, trying to find some explanation that made sense to him. It was frightfully apparent the moment he realized the truth of it. His mouth curled up in a twitch of distaste.

"You mean... he's a commoner?" Cet asked, looking back to Conchobar with a look that said he was scandalized. "My king, I'm surprised you would allow a base-born such responsibility. I've never heard of such a thing. How came this?"

"Well, it was either quest with me or stay in the dungeon," Rohan blurted out before he realized what his mouth was doing. Ivar gave him a swift elbow to the ribs.

"The dungeon?" Cet sounded incredulous. "The stories mention nothing of this! Your majesty, I fear I must protest! A commoner is bad enough, but a  _criminal_  as well? It is an insult to every nobleman in Kells!"

"I am a commoner, lest you forget!" Rohan shot back, his voice raising. "Would you have me stripped of my armor and the Sword of Kells, too?"

"It's different," Cet said in kind, "you are the warrior Draganta! Destined! This criminal is-"

"Is my best friend!" Rohan exclaimed, stepping toward Cet. "And my brother in arms! I won't stand here and listen to-"

"Enough!" Conchobar exclaimed, rising from the throne and commanding the attention of all in the room. "I will keep my own counsel on who is named a knight of this realm. Angus has fought well for Kells, enough I deem to act as recompense for past transgressions, and then some. And he continues to serve with loyalty and honor." He sat down again and gave a wry bob of his head. "Even if his methods are unique." He took a calming breath and set his gaze on Cet. "Lord Cet, you must be quite tired from your long journey," he said, "we will speak of business later. For now, take rest. You are welcome in the castle."

Cet visibly reined himself in and took a calming breath. "Of course, my king," he said, dropping into another bow, "you are, of course, most generous."

The king motioned to the guard who had introduced the lord. "Show Lord Cet the guest chambers."

"Well, he certainly is a presumptuous one," Ivar said after Cet had left.

"Thank you for your words in Angus' defense, my king," Rohan said.

"It pains me to say it, Rohan," said Conchobar, "but this is likely only the first of such complaints Angus will have to face. Lord Cet is clearly of an older mindset and he is not alone."

Deirdre shook her head. "I'll never understand why some nobles think that only nobles are capable of great deeds," she said, "a good leader respects  _all_  their people. A king or queen is first among equals."

Conchobar's expression softened a little as he turned to look at his daughter. "Well said, Deirdre," he said, resting a hand on hers.

* * *

Meanwhile, the subject of their conversation was traveling back to Emain Macha at a hurried pace. However, when he got there, he continued right through, never stopping, never greeting anyone. He just walked, the chain of his mace ratting on his shoulder. He continued on into the woods on the far-side of the village and disappeared into the bare, winter underbrush.

He had business to attend to; very long overdue business. It was business that shouldn't have taken him more than a decade to get around to, but it had.

The woods had changed only slightly in the intervening years. Things seemed smaller, somehow, and closer together. Of course, then again, he had been a little kid the last time. Maybe he was just bigger. But most of his landmarks were still there, so it wasn't too difficult to get where he needed to go.

Along the backside of a hill, on the edge of a little clearing, he found what he was looking for. It was a pile of stones, most no bigger than his fist, but a few were as big as the stone of his mace. Snow had drifted up on the windward side and covered the pile in a little dusting. Beneath that, he saw roots and vines and rotting old leaves hiding in the spaces between the stones. The pile was getting overgrown.

Angus gave a resigned sigh and set his mace on the ground near the pile, then began to clear away the dead and frozen plants.

"What a mess," he muttered to himself as he worked, "should never have left it this long. Guess I turned out to be an idiot, in spite of everything. I don't know what to say, except that I'm sorry."

He worked in silence for several more minutes until the stones looked cleaner. They didn't look well-kept, but at least they looked kept. With a sad grimace, he surveyed his work.

"You deserved better than this, Brighde," he said, sitting down in the snow next to the stones, "better than me." He shook his head, looking away from the stones and into the distance, feeling heat at the corners of his eyes. "I tried to come before this. I really tried. Year after year, I tried, but I just couldn't do it. I knew you would have cuffed me 'round the ears for what I turned into. I'd'ah deserved it, too. I just... couldn't ask for help after you left. I was too stubborn. Even then... too damned stubborn."

He picked up his mace and turned it over in his hands a few times, contemplating it.

"I'm trying to make it right, though," he said, "I'm trying to be something that you'd ha' been proud of. But not just you. I mean, I kinda fell into this Mystic Knight thing and... well, I've got a lot to live up to, that's all. I'm not a prince. I'm not a destined warrior. I'm just a man."

"Sure you are!" a tiny voice sounded from the tree branches above him. It was accompanied by the flutter of tiny wings as Aideen suddenly descended into view. "Just a man! One that's ridden on the back of the Fire Dragon of Dare!"

Angus gave a sour face at her. "Aideen!" he exclaimed, none too pleased. "Just how long have you been skulking around up there?" He gave a half-hearted swat through the air in her general direction as if to shoo her away. It was no trouble for her to nimbly dodge it.

"Actually, I've been following you since the castle," she admitted bashfully, "I was worried about you."

"This is private!" Angus exclaimed. "How much did you hear?"

"Uhmm... all of it?" Aideen replied, apologetically.

Angus gave a huff and shook his head, dropping it into one hand. "Great," he muttered, "just great."

"But I won't tell anyone, I promise!" Aideen hurried to add. "I just wanted to help."

"I don't  _need_  any help, Aideen," Angus snapped back, "I'm just fine."

"You're sitting in a snow pile and soaked through to the bone," Aideen pointed out, "you'll catch your death if you're not careful." He turned away from her, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Aideen flittered over and lighted on one knee. "Angus, who's buried in the cairn?" she asked gently.

Seeing that the fairy wasn't going to relent, Angus gave a resigned sigh. "Brighde," he said, "her name was Brighde. She was the old lady who took me in as a wee babe. She's the first person I remember, all right?"

"But I thought you had lived on your own since you were a child," Aideen said.

"Yeah, I was six years old when she died," Angus said, "when the winter began, she got this horrible cough. As the days got colder, it got worse and worse. About a week before the solstice, she could hardly get out of bed and was gasping. And then one day, her fingers and lips started turning blue and then..." He took a shaking breath, as if steeling himself for the memory. "It was like she just suffocated from nothing at all," he said, "and I couldn't do anything but watch." He looked off into the distance again, as if Aideen wasn't even there. "She was the only one who knew about where I came from. She always said she'd tell me when I was old enough to understand, but..."

The next thing he knew, there was a tiny warmth grasping on to his chest. He looked down and found Aideen clinging there, her arms wide as if she had been attempting to hug. It would have looked comical had she not buried her face in his leathers.

Angus didn't know he had been shivering until the warmth spread and he stopped. Aideen was glowing, ever so slightly.

"Oi," he said, "what are you...?"

"If you're gonna sit here in the cold snow, the least I can do is keep you warm," she said.

Angus leaned back against the tree that was at his back with a faint smile. "Fairy hugs," he said, "not so bad, I guess. Thanks Aideen. Guess I needed a friend after all."

"Well,  _someone's_  got to look after you," she replied.

"But seriously, don't tell anyone I was weeping like a babe, all right?"

"Don't worry," she said with a small giggle, "fairy promises are good, too."

* * *

Rohan had been all over Emain Macha looking for Angus. The sun was beginning to get low in the sky and they would both be expected back at the castle within the hour. He had returned to the hut several times to see if Angus had come back, but found it empty each time. Such was the case this time and he very nearly began to pace the small space in worry, muttering to himself under his breath.

A blast of cold hit his back and he turned to find Angus just entering the hut, letting the wool cover flop back into place over the entry. For a moment, Angus seemed surprised to see Rohan there before the familiar mask of false indifference descended on his face again.

"Hey," Angus muttered, turning to other things.

"Angus! Where've you been?" Rohan asked. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Just out," Angus replied, clearly resentful of the scrutiny, "taking a walk. What's the big deal?"

"Well, you'd know if I'd ha' been able to find you," Rohan replied, "we're expected back at the castle, soon."

"What for?" Angus asked in a tone that suggested he would rather go anywhere else.

"Dinner," said Rohan, "there's a lord visiting from one of Kells' farthest villages. The King is hosting him at his table, tonight."

Angus rolled his eyes and flopped down into his cot, throwing an arm over his face. "What's that gotta do with me?"

"The king wants us there, too, you idiot," Rohan said, scooping up a piece of Angus' clothing from where it had been discarded. He gave it a cursory sniff to make certain it was relatively clean, then tossed it at his friend. "So get cleaned up and put that on. We haven't got long."

"Can't I have a pass, this time?" Angus asked, sounding miserable as he held up and inspected the tunic. "I'm not really up for it."

Rohan turned back to him, a renewed look of concern. "Are you ill? Should I get Cathbad?"

"No, I'm not ill," Angus snapped back, "I don't need any of that old wizard's concoctions. I'm just not in the mood, that's all."

"Mood doesn't matter and you know it," Rohan replied, showing perhaps a little more irritation that he had intended, "believe me, I've no more desire to go than you do. I've already met this Lord Cet. He's not exactly a pleasant man. But the King insists on having all four of the Mystic Knights on hand." He prodded Angus with his knee. "So, up with you!"

Angus gave a long-suffering sigh and sat up. "All right, all right, I'm up." Sluggishly, he ran a hand through his hair, straightening it somewhat before running some water over his face from a nearby basin. Rohan did the same and they both began to get changed.

"You know, I really wish you'd tell me what it is that's bothering you," Rohan said, at last, trying to add as much sympathy as he could to it. He pulled a cloak on over his shoulders.

"Nothin's bothering me," Angus replied, the mask slipping for just a moment before being stubbornly put back in place, "don't worry about it."

"I can't help it," Rohan said, "for a few days every year, my best friend isn't himself. Of course I'm going to worry. Whatever it is, Angus, you know you can talk to me."

"Look, Rohan, it's ancient history," Angus said, shouldering his mace and giving a shrug, "it doesn't matter anymore. All right? So just leave it be." With that, he turned and exited the hut once more.

Rohan gave a sigh, looking after his friend for a moment before scooping Angus' cloak off of his cot, still worried. "Well, it seems to matter to you, quite a bit," he muttered, low enough to keep the sentiment to himself.

Following Angus out of the hut, he caught up with his friend and tossed the cloak over his shoulders. Angus murmured a half-hearted thanks and they both walked on in silence.

* * *

To say that Angus was bored would have been the understatement of the season. Lord Cet never stopped speaking. Apparently, he liked the sound of his own voice and assumed that everyone else liked it, too. Angus wasn't sure what there was to like about it; gravelly, almost like he was burping out his words rather than speaking them. It was really starting to grate on Angus' nerves.

At least dinner was decent. Roast boar, cooked cabbage, bread - actual  _wheat_  bread - with honeyed butter, the last of the fresh autumn apples, and three or four kinds of cheeses Angus was pretty sure he had never seen before. He could also smell a pudding being held ready for the final remove.

He was just going in for another round of pork when Cet  _finally_  stopped talking about himself for just a moment.

"So, what is it like to wear the Mystic Armor?" He asked out of the blue. "Is it... energizing? Or more like wearing normal armor that's simply neigh-invulnerable?"

"You know, I've never really thought about it," Deirdre said, hesitantly as the four knights all looked askance at one another.

"Well, they're based on the elements," Rohan stated thoughtfully, "so there's no telling if all the armors act the same way, I suppose."

"Well, there is a certain energy to it," Ivar put in, "it's more nimble than normal armor. Like... well, like water flowing, I suppose."

"Mine always feels a little bit destructive," said Rohan, "like something I can and can't control at the same time, almost... wild."

Only half paying attention to the conversation, Angus tucked into his slice of pork for a moment only to notice that Cet's eyes were curiously fixed on him, as if gauging his reaction. He'd seen that look before, of course. It was subtle, but it was there; the look that implied that the viewer was looking at something that wasn't fit to be stuck to his boot. Angus was far too used to seeing it not to notice it, though he was fairly certain the others didn't have the vaguest idea.

"Mine's more like I'm just... lighter," Deirdre said, "like I could fly away any moment or ride a breeze."

"That is fascinating," Cathbad commented, "it would seem that the Mystic Armor grants their wearers a certain quality of the elements themselves. For fire, it's a raw power that cannot be doused. Water is an ability to adapt to change in an instant. And air is a certain freedom that allows you to move about almost completely unhindered."

"I wish I could try the others," said Ivar, "I must admit that I'm curious, now."

"And what of the Knight of Earth?" Cet asked, sounding just a little pointed. "What does yours feel like,  _Knight_  Angus?" He had used the title with obvious distaste.

Angus had just taken a rather large bite of pork and was trying to navigate his teeth around it when Cet put him on the spot. He froze for a moment, like a stag in lantern light, looking from face to face seated at the table. As if remembering that he had to make a reply, he shook himself out of the momentary stupor. "Well," he said around his full mouth, too late to remember not to talk with his mouth full. Clearing his throat a little, he chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "I dunno... uh... heavy, I guess." Hastily, he turned his attention back to his plate, pushing around some of his cabbage in an effort to look busy.

There was an awkward silence as the others all stared at him for a moment, then exchanged puzzled looks.

"Heavy?" Of course it was the king who had to press the issue. No slipping back out of the conversation quietly.

"Sure," Angus said, "heavy and... really strong... like... well, like a dirty great rock, I suppose."

Silence again. Angus swore he heard the sputtering of the candles. He saw Cet's expression again. The look of disgust had deepened and he had momentarily sent a disapproving look Conchobar's direction.

"So... like the immovable object, in a way?" Conchobar ventured, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes!" Angus said, with a snap of his fingers. "Like I can't be moved from the piece of ground I choose."

"And... that's it?" Cet pressed. "But... how does that compare to normal armor?"

Tearing his eyes away from the scrutiny, Angus absently soaked up the juice from the pork on his plate with a piece of bread as if to look busy with the remains of his meal. "Well, I wouldn't know. All my years, a suit of the guard's armor was the one thing I never managed to-"

He abruptly broke off before the word could tumble out of his mouth, looking back up again to check Cet's reaction, he could see the muscles in his jaw tighten for a moment. He had obviously filled in the blank.

"Try... on," Angus finished his thought, somewhat lamely.

"No I imagine not," Cet spat, sweetly venomous, "it would be rather difficult for a street urchin to... acquire a guard's armor, I suppose."

"Not that he didn't try," Cathbad muttered, earning him an elbow nudge in the side from Deirdre.

"So tell me...  _Knight_  Angus," Cet went on through clenched teeth, "just how many silver candlesticks are there in the castle."

Angus fixed his eyes on Cet's own, trying his best to toss daggers at the lord with the look. His own jaw clenched for a moment. "Dunno," he replied, somewhat darkly, "I haven't had reason to count."

Sparks seemed to jump in the air between them for a painfully drawn-out moment. Everyone at the table seemed to move just a little bit toward the edge of their seats.

It was the King who finally broke it with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat. "So, Lord Cet, you were telling us about the fighting force in your village. There was a man you had mentioned before, your local hero?"

"Yes," Cet agreed, tearing his eyes away from Angus and immediately adopting a lighter tone. "Anluan. My brother-in-law, in fact, my sister's husband. There was a small incursion of Temra soldiers near some of our farm fields once and he beat back ten men alone before our other soldiers got there. Sent them running for Temra. But, I suppose, that's to be expected of someone who regularly trains with the Royal Guard here in Kells Castle."

It was a boast, Angus could tell. It was directed at him. Angus popped his last piece of pork into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully while reaching for one of the apples waiting in a bowl. He took a small knife out of its place on his belt and proceeded to slice the apple, the sharp, well-made blade sliding through the fruit easily.

"That is... a rather well-made blade," Cet commented, his eyes narrowing just a bit.

Angus swallowed his mouthful of pork. "Oh yeah," he agreed, holding it up to look at it. The handle sparkled pewter, wrought in the shape of a beast's head. "Best knife I ever had."

"And how did you... come by it, exactly?" Cet pressed, sounding suspicious.

"Won it," Angus said, taking a bite of apple, "a wager with a soldier here at the castle about a year ago. Beat him in a sword match." He looked away for a moment, as if in thought. "Uhm, what was his name, again? I think it was... yeah, it was a guy named Anluan." Blithely he went back to slicing his apple, keeping an eye on Cet's smoldering scowl out of the corner of his eye.

Apparently, Deirdre couldn't completely suppress the snicker that escaped her. She tried to cover it up with taking a deep drink from her tankard of mead. Cet noticed it and his face began to deepen into a faint shade of red.

 _And match_ , Angus thought to himself, somewhat smugly. He tried valiantly to keep the corner of his mouth from quirking up, but just wasn't quite able to do it.

* * *

Cet didn't engage in any further verbal sparring with Angus after that, choosing instead to pointedly ignore him. Angus was okay with that. It meant that he could fade into the background and be left to his own thoughts for the rest of the meal.

That turned out not to be very much longer. The bread pudding was served and a few minutes after the King had mercifully called an end to the gathering.

Angus left the throne hall as quickly as possible without being insulting. Not that he would have cared overmuch in Cet's case. But it seemed sensible to take the high road. It would stick in the lord's craw that much more. He decided he would wait for Rohan near Cathbad's chamber before heading home for the night. He perched himself on the casement of a window in the corridor across from Cathbad's chamber, staring out at the dark night and the stars twinkling in the sky.

Rohan, it seemed, was taking his sweet time. Angus figured he was probably making doe-eyes at Deirdre again, completely oblivious of the fact that she was making them back at him. Those two were completely hopeless. Angus couldn't help but wonder how much longer they would dance around each other, but there seemed to be little doubt that the Warrior Draganta would one day also have a crown on his head.

A crushing thought came to the former-thief just then. When that day came, as it was likely to do, where would that leave him? He and Rohan had been together since they were boys. Before the whole Mystic Knights thing had happened, it had been just the two of them. Truth be told, Rohan was the closest thing Angus had to a brother. And for the first time Angus got the dreadful feeling that those days were numbered. They had been numbered since the moment the two of them had set out on the quest to find Draganta. One day Rohan would move on and Angus wouldn't be able to follow. How could he? He was nothing; just a street urchin with a criminal past. Lord Cet only brought that point home to roost. It was increasingly obvious that many nobles didn't like that Angus was a Mystic Knight. They would never suffer him to be anything more.

"Well, here we are."

Angus was pulled out of his thoughts by Lord Cet's voice coming at him sharply from one end of the corridor. Angus couldn't help but grind his teeth. He chose not to respond.

"You certainly left the King's hall quickly and now here I find you skulking about the castle," Cet ground out, "just like... well, just like a common thief, I suppose."

"I think you'll find that I'm simply waiting," Angus growled, "not skulking."

"Waiting for a clear path to steal off into the night, I'd wager," Cet jabbed.

There was a time that Cet would have been right. That only made the jab get under Angus' skin all the more. Hopping down from the window casement, he approached Cet with a scowl.

"I don't think I like what you're implying," he said darkly.

"I will imply what I please,  _thief_ ," Cet snapped back, his own voice low.

Angus' hands clenched into fists at his sides, his fingernails digging into his palms. "Angus of Kells is no thief," he replied, his anger barely contained, "I am the Mystic Knight of Earth."

"The Mystic Knight of Earth," Cet scoffed, turning away from Angus imperiously, "the Mystic Knight of the Hedge-row, more like. A pauper, with nothing of his own, least of all that armor and weapon. Tell me, who would that armor belong to if Draganta had not taken pity on you?"

Angus had to admit, he didn't really have an answer to that. It was academic at any rate, since Cet simply continued on before he could say anything.

"You are nothing; a street urchin and a common criminal who stumbled into something that is far above him on a lucky chance. Trash, from the moment you were born. Not even your own kin wanted to keep you."

By Dagda, Angus wanted to hit the bastard. He was just taking a step toward the lord, propriety be damned. "What would you even know-"

"Is something the matter?" Rohan's voice broke in on the scene, sharply interrupting, snapping both Angus and Cet into inaction.

The two glared at each other, chest-to-chest, eye-to-eye.

"I said, is something the matter?" Rohan repeated moving over to them and pushing them apart. Angus was so steeped in rage that he didn't even take notice that Rohan had stepped a little more closely to Angus' side to stare down Cet.

There was a long pause as they continued to glare at each other for just a little while longer.

"No," Angus finally growled, "nothing's wrong. Nothing important." He shot one last glare at Cet before stalking past him, down the corridor and to the stairs leading to the lower level. He felt more than saw or heard Rohan almost immediately on his tail, leaving a fuming Cet behind them both.

Angus continued on without breaking stride, out of the castle and into the courtyard, where the soldiers trained by day. Taking his mace off his shoulder, he made for the nearest practice dummy and swung with every ounce of strength he had. The dummy exploded into pieces, straw flying and wood splintering. The mass of tension that had settled in Angus' stomach finally loosened. He let the stone of the mace drop to the ground near his feet, the chain loosely grasped in his hand.

"Don't take it to heart, my friend. He doesn't know the first thing about you," Rohan's voice was at his shoulder a moment later. Angus didn't have the energy to respond and he felt Rohan place a hand on his shoulder. "We should tell the King what just happened. He wouldn't tolerate-"

"I can fight my own battles," Angus snapped, interrupting Rohan and whirling around to face his friend. But when he saw the surprised and somewhat hurt look on Rohan's face, his mood cooled again. With a deep sigh, he turned away, rubbing his face with his free hand. "I'm tired," he said, hefting the mace on to his shoulder again, "let's just go home."

"Sure Angus," Rohan said, understanding in his tone, "let's." With a weary smile, Rohan threw one of his arms across Angus' shoulder as they started walking. Angus couldn't help but return it in kind.

* * *

_A hammer was striking an anvil, somewhere in the distance, pounding out a steady sound that rang out and vibrated the air. A warm softness surrounded him on all sides, vague figures above him._

_Slowly, quiet and soft, a voice began to sing, a woman. He could hear a smile in the tone, though he couldn't understand the words. Something dangled in the space above him and he reached out, his fingertips just brushing the smooth, cool surface. Another voice, a man's seemed to laugh and said something, but once again he couldn't understand the words._

_The woman finished her song and he heard a new sound, then, joining the steady rhythm of the hammer strikes. It was a clashing of metal on metal, like the ringing of swords. The clash of wooden shields joined it a moment later and it grew into a great cacophony. All the while, the hammer continued its steady beat._

_"Glaine ár gcroí," a voice whispered as the figures above him vanished, fading into a growing darkness. He was alone, now, but the noises continued._

_"Neart ár ngéag," came another voice. But the world was dark and cold, now. Somehow, he could sense a presence nearby, but he couldn't see it._

_"Beart de réir ár mbriathar." This voice sounded angry and a dread grew in his chest, stealing his breath. He tried to regain it, but something was on his throat, pressing inward, keeping him from crying out. Frantically, he struggled to find purchase with his hands, but they wouldn't obey him. The pressure built on his throat all the more. Eyes appeared just before him, glowing red in the darkness, looking upon him with spite. He tried again to cry out, but there was nothing he could do, no air to be had._

_The sound of swords and the hammering on the anvil reached a painful crescendo. One word rang out in his mind, as if it was shouted in his ear, clearer than all the others._

_"Die!"_

* * *

With a jerk, Angus awoke gasping for breath and shooting up into a sitting position in his cot. His hands were clawing at an unseen force that felt like it had settled around his throat and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. Every nerve on high alert, he frantically looked around the inside of the hut. A dim moonlight was peeking through the window covering, a thin shaft of light that was illuminating his breath as it froze in the cold air. Across the way, he could see Rohan in his cot, calmly sleeping without a care in the world. The rest of the hut was completely still and quiet, nothing out of place.

Breathing deeply to regain control of himself, Angus dropped his face into one hand. It had been ages since he had had that dream, not since he was a little boy. He hadn't had it since he had joined up with Rohan, as if the other boy's presence had somehow chased it away all these years.

"Why's it back now?" Angus asked the air.

Across the way, he heard Rohan stir and his eyes snapped up just in time to see his friend pull the blankets up closer to his face in his sleep, warding against the cold. Angus felt a pang of envy as he watched his friend settle back into a deep sleep.

Well, there was no reason for the both of them to lose sleep over his bad dream. Angus reached for a cloak that was covering the foot of his cot and wrapped himself up in it. Slipping on his boots, he got up and crept out of the hut as silently as he could so as not to disturb Rohan.

The night air was bracing and he shivered a bit as he pulled his cloak in tighter. The only way to shake off the restlessness would be to tire himself out, so Angus started walking. He didn't have any particular destination in mind. He just picked a direction and walked.

The movement warmed him up as he went. He wasn't sure how long he wandered, eventually skirting the boundary between the edge of the forest and the town. It was long enough that his shadow on the white-dappled ground in the moonlight had lengthened significantly.

All at once he realized where he had ended up. He was on the very outside edge of Emain Macha, well away from almost every other hut and building. There was a small, worn down old structure just on the forest's edge; an old, disused hut whose thatched roof had long since fallen in or disintegrated in years of wind, leaving a skeleton of rafters and earthen walls.

It had been years since he had come back. He had had no reason to return to it. It was Brighde's hut, the first place he had ever called home. Just an unused ruin, now.

His feet carried him up to the door before he realized it. It creaked as he pushed it open, almost as if it had been about to fall inward of its own accord. Inside, things were more or less as he had remembered them. Against the back wall, a pot still hung over the fireplace, though it was rusted and looked like something had taken to nesting in it over the last summer. Dirty, moth-eaten furs and cloths lined the floor, muffling his steps as he entered. And in a shaft of moonlight, the cot where Brighde had lain gasping for breath for several days before whatever it had been had cruelly taken her.

What was he doing here, anyway? What was this going to get him? Was he trying to affirm to himself that he had once had a home; that someone had once cared for him like a mother? What was the point of it?

Bitter and somewhat disgusted by his silly sentimentality, Angus turned back toward the door to leave. But as he did, the ground beneath one of the furs gave way under his foot with a crunching sound like old, splintering wood. It nearly sent him stumbling.

He looked down at the spot, thoroughly puzzled. The ground under the furs and cloths should have been solid. Pushing aside the fur cautiously with his foot, he found what had given way. A little rectangular hole had been dug into the ground and covered over with a small piece of wood, now rotted through. When he had stepped on it, it had snapped.

Angus crouched down and pushed the pieces aside. Down in the hole was a small box made of wood, no bigger than his fist. The shape of a hammer and a line of runes was burned into its top. He didn't know what the runes said. It was writing he had never seen before.

Carefully, almost reverently, Angus opened the box to look inside. On a leather cord, a pewter pendant in the shape of a smith's hammer was resting there. Angus picked it up by the cord and held it up in the moonlight, letting it dangle. More of the runes were shaped into its surface, the angles making the moonlight glint off of the pendant softly. Angus reached out with his other hand, his fingertips lightly brushing the smooth, cool surface.

Brighde had showed him this pendant once, when he was very small. He barely remembered it, but it came back to him now in a curious rush.

" _This belongs to you, little one_ ," she had told him, " _and one day, when you're old enough, I'll tell you its full tale. I can only hope that you will understand._ "

She hadn't had the chance to, of course. But it seemed she had made certain that it was safely hidden from prying eyes. He wondered for how many years it had been hiding there, the two of them walking over it, him unknowing.

With a sigh, Angus set the pendant back in the box and snapped it shut. He contemplated it for a long moment before a yawn escaped him, his breath puffing out in a cloud in the moonlight. Maybe he could finally sleep again.

Rising and making his way to the door, Angus cast his gaze about the hut once more, wondering if there was anything else he should take with him. But, no, there was nothing of any importance. Everything was rusted out or rotted through. There was nothing else left there. He tucked the box into a pouch on his belt and left.

Exhaustion was taking hold of him again as he walked back to the hut he shared with Rohan. He was reasonably certain that he would be asleep again before his head hit the pillow. The hut was just in sight, now. He paused and gave another yawn, working a kink out of his neck.

And then, something grabbed on to him from behind. One gloved hand landed immediately over his mouth while another snaked its way through his limbs, pinning them where they were. Angus bucked under the assailant's grasp, letting out muffled sounds from his mouth.

Angus was no stranger to street fighting. He had gotten into his share of scrapes with unsavory characters over the years. And so it was muscle memory that had him shift his stance wide and low, fouling his attacker's feet. He pitched over, flinging forward with every ounce of his strength. The attacker stumbled forward, his grip loosening enough that Angus could break free.

Able to get a good look at his attacker now, he found he had no idea who it was. They were dressed all in black, a large hood brought low over his face, casting deep shadows that he couldn't see past. Something glinted in his gloved hand now and it took only an instant for Angus to register it as a dagger.

The attacker lunged at him and Angus darted to the side, reaching to his shoulder for his mace. When his hand grasped air, he suddenly realized that he had left it inside the hut, sitting on the ground right next to his cot. He cursed his carelessness as the attacker made another jab at him. This time, Angus met the attack with one of his own, grabbing on to the attacker's wrist and giving him a pull to knock him off balance. Still holding on to the wrist, he swung the cloaked figure around, twisting his arm behind him and up. The attacker's grip on the dagger loosened and Angus was able to bat it away. It landed somewhere on the snow-dappled ground nearby.

The attacker, too, seemed to know how to fight dirty. He clamped a foot down on top of Angus' own and twisted, flinging Angus over his shoulder so that he went tumbling to the ground. Angus landed hard with a yelp, the wind knocked out of him, his head having cracked against the frozen ground. He laid there stunned for a moment until he heard hurried footsteps coming his direction. He rolled to his side as the assailant came down at him, the dagger flashing in the moonlight. Shaking off his daze, he rolled to his feet just in time to meet the attackers next strike; first a fist at his face, then the dagger came in following it from the other side. Angus grabbed the fist on one side and the attacker's dagger-bearing wrist on the other and leaned into the strike. The two of them grappled for a long moment.

"Hey! Stop!" Rohan's voice came from the entry to the hut. Reflexively, Angus cast a quick glance his friend's way. Rohan was already charging forward, the Sword of Kells held high.

Angus' inattention was just enough for the attacker to take advantage of. Picking up one foot, he spun toward his dagger side, pulling his fist free of Angus' grasp. Angus felt himself being pulled around, off balance as the attacker pushed his way past. The dagger found the flesh in Angus' left side, slicing through his wool shirt as the attacker slid past him. As Angus' legs gave way under him and he tumbled to the ground clutching his side, the attacker continued on, running off into the darkness, his cloak trailing behind him. A fireball from Rohan's sword followed him for a moment, but missed as the figure disappeared into the night.

The wound burned in Angus' side and he doubled over, clutching it, feeling blood on his hands. Rohan skidded to a halt next to him and dropped to his knees, placing his hands on Angus' shoulders to hold him up.

"Angus, what happened?" Rohan asked, urgently.

"He caught my side," Angus ground out, gritting his teeth.

"Let me see!" Rohan ordered, wrestling Angus around so that he was partially laid out on his side, shoulders in Rohan's lap. Rohan's hands found the wound, sending a fresh jolt of pain into it and causing Angus to give a strangled cry. "It isn't deep," Rohan proclaimed, "but I should get you to Cathbad. C'mon, up with you."

Angus' legs felt like rubber and the pain in his side intensified as Rohan hoisted him up. Rohan began heading toward the castle, but Angus brought him to a halt.

"My mace," he gasped out, "by my cot. Shouldn't go without it."

Rohan nodded to him and brought him back over to the entrance of the hut. He left Angus to lean there for a moment while he disappeared inside only to reemerge a moment later, swinging Angus' mace over his shoulder. Then he placed himself under Angus' shoulder again, hoisting him up as they both made their way toward Kells Castle.


	2. Chapter 2

Cathbad was no stranger to burning the midnight oil. So it didn't come as much of a surprise to Aideen when she spotted a light on in his window. Wondering what was keeping the old druid up this night, she flitted her way up there and landed on the casement.

"Still awake, old man?" she greeted jovially.

Cathbad turned to her in surprise, then gave a smile when he saw her. "Oh! Aideen. You're up late yourself."

"I'm always excited the night before the solstice festival," Aideen admitted, "I can barely sleep, thinking about the fun and games the fairies always have."

Cathbad gave a knowing chuckle. "Well, I suppose that's a good enough excuse," he said, "I got behind on my preparations myself, with everything that happened today."

"Mind if I keep you company a while?"

"Not at all, little one," Cathbad replied, waving her in, "come, come sit by a candle and warm yourself up."

Grateful to be out of the cold, Aideen flittered over to the table and lighted next to one of the candles. She held her hands out over the flame for a moment as the old druid puttered about.

"I don't like that stuck-up Lord Cet," Aideen blurted out, suddenly realizing that she had wanted to get it off her chest. "He's a terrible bully. Why are some Humans like that, Cathbad?"

"Oh, I don't know, Aideen," Cathbad replied, "every Human is a little different and every Human has their own opinion. There's little to be done about the ones who choose to throw it in others' faces."

"The things he said to Angus were horrible," Aideen pressed onward, "if I were bigger, I'd kick him right in his backside. I mean, Angus is a Mystic Knight! A hero of Kells and Tir Na Nog alike! What's Cet ever done?"

"Cet is the Lord of Cluain Bolg, Aideen," Cathbad pointed out, "and by all accounts he has done quite well by his people. Much as I'd like to let him have it, we can't just ignore that."

"I know," Aideen said with a pout, "I just wish I could-"

She was interrupted by an urgent pounding on the chamber door. "Cathbad!" Rohan's voice floated to them through the door. "Cathbad, we need help! Cathbad!"

The druid set aside his tincture and rushed over to the door, wrenching it open. Rohan was there on the other side, tiredly clinging on to a limp Angus. The Knight of Earth's skin was grey and he wasn't responding to anything.

"Someone attacked him!" Rohan exclaimed, pulling Angus inside and over to the low bed that Cathbad had against the wall. "There's a nasty cut in his side."

"Place him down here, quickly!" Cathbad ordered, grasping on to Angus' other side and helping to move him to the bed. With a groan, Angus bonelessly flopped on to the bed, completely unresponsive as they laid him back.

"It didn't seem that bad at first," Rohan explained, "but he got weak and feverish as we made our way here. He gave out completely at the gate and I had to drag him up here."

"Poison?" Aideen asked with worry, hovering over Cathbad's shoulder.

"Perhaps," Cathbad allowed, leaning over Angus and placing his hands on either side of the younger man's face. "Angus! Angus, look at me!"

Angus muttered a weak, unintelligible sound of protest at the treatment, but his glassy eyes settled on the old druid. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his skin. Deciding that he was going to get very little information there, Cathbad moved on to the wound itself, gently probing it. There were already angry red streaks emanating from the cut and it was hot to the touch. Angus cried out and tried to shift away, but didn't seem to have the strength.

"How long since he was hurt?" Cathbad asked, looking back to Rohan.

"I'm not sure," Rohan said, "a half an hour, maybe? We came straight here."

"That's much too fast for infection to set in," Cathbad said grimly, "it's definitely a poison. Rohan, start some water boiling over the fire and get my medicinal herbs and some bandages, quickly. We have to clean the wound before it can spread any further."

Wide-eyed with fear, Rohan gave a quick nod, then hurried over to one of the cabinets in the chamber. As he began to root through it, Cathbad retrieved a little linen swab from a jar on his table and turned his attention back to the wound again. Angus cried out again as Cathbad passed the swab over the wound, then set it aside in a little dish on the table.

"Here," Rohan said, handing a satchel of herbs to Cathbad as he passed, making his way to the basin of water nearby to fill a small pot.

Cathbad tore into the satchel and searched through its contents. He produced a leaf and held it up to make certain it was correct, then turned his attention back to Angus. The young man's face was a mask of agony and he wasn't sure if he was aware of what was happening around him. Placing his hands on either side of Angus' face again, Cathbad tried to get his attention.

"Angus!" He called out, gently but urgently. "C'mon, boy! Look at me! Open up and chew on this. Quickly, now!"

It was a testament to how poorly Angus was feeling that he acquiesced. Usually trying to get Angus to take anything Cathbad gave him was a trial. He still made a face at the taste of the leaf, but it was quickly overridden by another wave of agony. It was only about another minute or so that his eyes finally closed the rest of the way and he stilled, falling into a deep slumber.

"There, I gave him something to help him rest," Cathbad explained when Rohan gave him a worried look, "he should sleep for several hours now."

Hurried footsteps sounded from the corridor. Rohan, Cathbad, and Aideen all looked up in alarm as Deirdre and Ivar came skidding around the open doorway to enter the chamber. They both looked as though they had been roused from sleep.

"We heard all the noise," Ivar said with urgency, "what's happened?"

"Angus!" Deirdre exclaimed a moment later, quickly moving next to Cathbad to kneel by the bed. She took hold of one of Angus' limp hands.

"He was attacked in the village," Rohan explained, "someone with a poisoned dagger."

Seeing that Deirdre was keeping a close eye on Angus, Cathbad moved back to his table, rooting through his satchel of medicinal herbs again. He began to tinker and putter with several of them, grinding some ingredients together with mortar and pestle, soaking others in water, stirring powders into the mix.

"Did you see who it was?" Ivar asked Rohan.

"It was too dark," Rohan said with a shake of his head, "and he ran before I could stop him."

Ivar gave a grim and determined nod. "I'll summon the guard and begin a search of the area," he said, turning to the door and swiftly exiting.

"Deirdre," Rohan began, "I hate to say it, but-"

"But you think we should look inside the castle walls as well as out," she finished, "you're thinking of Lord Cet."

"He's made no secret of his opinion on Angus being the Mystic Knight of Earth," Rohan pointed out, "and I found them nearly coming to blows earlier. Cet was clearly goading him."

"My father should be told about this," Deirdre said, coming to her feet again.

"Angus didn't want that," Rohan said, "he's trying not to make a fuss about it, I think."

"My boy, we've gone well beyond a fuss," Cathbad stated, "or what Angus would want. There has been an assassination attempt on a knight of the realm. One that may yet succeed, if I cannot draw out the poison. The King must be told, at once."

"I'll go wake him," Deirdre said, moving to exit the chamber again. Just before she did, she cast a worried glance back toward Angus, as if to wonder if leaving would cause something terrible to happen. But she exited all the same, her quick footsteps echoing down the corridor.

"Do you really think that's what this is, Cathbad?" Aideen asked from where she had settled on the pillow next to Angus' head, one hand lightly resting on his forehead. "Assassination?"

"I don't know, Aideen," Cathbad admitted, grimly, "but for right now, all we can do is make certain the attempt doesn't succeed. Rohan, how's the water?"

"Just about heated, I think," Rohan replied, glancing over at the pot at its place over the fire.

"Good, good. Bathe the wound as best you can and then make a poultice out of this mixture here," Cathbad replied, indicating the fragrant paste he had just completed. Then he picked up the linen swabbing he had taken from the wound. "I'll set about finding out what poison was used."

Rohan removed the pot from the fire with a cloth and poured some of it into a bowl. This he took over to the bedside along with a fresh cloth.

"How can I help?" Aideen pressed.

"Just do what you're already doing, Aideen," Rohan said, a mixture of fondness for the fairy and heartache for the situation, "Angus needs all the friendship he can get right now."

Rohan didn't even bother to see how the little fairy responded as he went about the grim work of cleaning the wound. For her part, Aideen turned her attention back to Angus with a sad, worried look.

* * *

The rest of the night passed in something of a flurry of activity. Ivar spent the night leading search parties throughout Emain Macha and the surrounding area, trying to find some sign of Angus' attacker. But aside from the spot where the actual fight had taken place, there was no sign to be found. It was as if the attacker had vanished like a wraith. Ivar and the soldiers had searched well into the morning hours and found nothing.

After telling all she had known to her father, Deirdre had spent the rest of the night investigating the goings on inside the castle. She questioned guards, servants, anyone who might have been awake at the time or near it, trying to find out who had come and gone and when.

Rohan had spent the night assisting Cathbad in taking care of Angus. With the Druid occupied with his experiments to find which poison had been used, it had been up to Rohan to see to most of Angus' needs. As he was asleep with fever, there were few enough. Even so, Rohan had been reluctant to leave his best friend's side.

Conchobar had called them all together in the throne hall a few hours after dawn, just as Ivar returned from the search of Emain Macha. The southern prince was presently huddled next to the fireplace, holding his hands over the heat to warm them. Deirdre, Rohan, and Cathbad were all standing before the throne, each watching as the King paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back in thought. Rohan kept tossing furtive glances up at the window near the ceiling that led to Cathbad's chamber. Each time he would begin to zone out, Deirdre would rest a gentle hand on his forearm to bring his attention back.

"And you found absolutely nothing?" Conchobar asked, turning his glance to Ivar again. "Nothing at all?"

"No, nothing," Ivar confirmed, "I widened the area and the soldiers are still out searching. But I'm not hopeful that they'll find anything of any use."

"Well, you wouldn't, if the attacker came from the castle," Rohan pointed out.

"Deirdre?" Conchobar asked.

The princess shook her head with regret. "After Rohan and Angus left last night, the guards saw no one came in or out of the castle until they returned. And according to the servants, all of the guest quarters have been undisturbed all night." At this last part, she gave a pointed look to Rohan who ground his teeth together and looked away.

"Why the guest quarters, specifically?" Conchobar asked, turning back to his daughter in surprise.

In response, Deirdre looked over at Rohan with an apologetic glance. The king's eyebrows went up a little and Rohan gave a heavy sigh. The Knight of Fire still looked reluctant to bring up what he had seen the night before. Cathbad gave him a gentle nudge.

"Angus didn't want to make anything of it for fear it would make things worse," he explained, "but last night, after dinner and just before we left, I came across Lord Cet giving him grief. He was clearly trying to start something, like he was looking for an excuse."

Running a hand over his face in frustration, Conchobar gave a heavy sigh of his own. "Dagda save me from the stubbornness of knights," he muttered. This prompted a small twitch of a knowing smile from Rohan. The king shook his head with dismay, looking back up to Rohan. "Angus' attempts to ease the situation are appreciated," he said, "any other time I might be impressed by his improved self-control. But I should have been made aware of this at once."

"I thought you were going to tell him last night," Rohan said to Deirdre.

"I was," she replied with uncertainty, "but when I talked to the guards and found out no one had left the castle, I thought maybe it might be best to..." She paused, giving an apologetic look to everyone in the room. "Angus has never been very comfortable dealing with... courtly disputes."

Cathbad gave a sigh and shook his head. "My King, it seems that Deirdre and Rohan simply wanted to spare Angus any more grief over the matter. And given the state he's in, I can understand their intentions."

"Yes, yes, I understand," Conchobar said with a resigned sigh. It was clear to pretty much everyone in the room that there would be a long talk after all of this was over. "And how is Angus doing, now?"

"I was able to identify the poison and administer an antidote," Cathbad replied, "the fever broke about an hour ago, but he is still deeply asleep. Which is probably best for the healing of the wound, for now. That I was able to treat and suture without much difficulty. A day or two of rest and he'll be just fine, I think."

"What was the poison?" Ivar said, asking the question they were all thinking at that point.

"One derived from brewing and distilling an herb," Cathbad responded, "an herb known only to grow in Temra. I was fortunate to have the antidote on hand. It isn't common."

"Maeve," Rohan spat out, "I might have known she'd have a hand in this."

"Is it possible that the attacker was some sort of... magical conjuration?" Deirdre asked.

"That would explain why we were unable to find anything leading away from the attack," said Ivar.

"So Maeve sends someone to attack Angus the same day that an angry lord comes to the castle and stirs up trouble?" Rohan asked with skepticism. "That's an awfully big coincidence. Cet's involved. I'll bet my whole coin purse on it."

"That is a perilous accusation, Draganta," a new voice said from the hall entrance. Everyone turned to it to see Cet himself standing there. He took several slow steps into the hall, as if trying to be casual. But his face was wroth. "And one that I thoroughly resent, I might add." He came to a halt just outside the circle, leveling a scathing glance at the whole room. "The courtesy of your Mystic Knights seems to have lessened from last evening, Majesty."

"This doesn't concern you," Rohan ground out.

"Oh?" said Cet with sarcasm. "Well, then my name is coming up with some urgency for something that doesn't concern me."

"I'd have you forgive Rohan, Lord Cet," said Conchobar, taking a seat on the throne, "tensions are high. We are in the middle of a crisis."

"So I have been told, Majesty," Cet said his demeanor visibly changing, his look softening somewhat, "I came to offer my sympathies. You'll have to forgive me for being somewhat shocked. I did not expect to hear myself a suspect in the matter. How is Knight Angus?"

"I'm told it was a close thing, but he is on the mend," Conchobar replied, evenly.

"Not that you actually care," Rohan muttered under his breath, which earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs from Deirdre.

Cet shot Rohan an angry glare before turning his attention back to the king once more. "I am relieved to hear that, Your Majesty," he said, "I have my doubts about his position as Knight, but I do not wish him harm over it."

"Given what has come to light, Lord Cet, I'm afraid I must ask," said Conchobar, "Rohan tells me that he found you and Angus nearly at blows after dinner last night. Would you care to share your side?"

Cet gave a pained expression, looking away for a moment as if in shame. "I'm afraid, Majesty, that I was not entirely myself after dinner last night," he said apologetically, "I... may have over-indulged in your generosity, particularly when it came to the mead. I woke up to the after-effects this morning and thought to beg your pardon for my behavior."

"It is not my pardon that you should seek," said the king, "I expect that you will make your apologies to Angus when he has healed sufficiently."

"I understand and I obey, Your Majesty," Cet replied with a deep bow, "with your permission, I will take my leave so that you may continue to manage this crisis."

Conchobar gave the lord a nod. With one final angry glare at Rohan, Cet took his leave, stalking out of the hall with strident purpose. He left a strained silence in his wake.

* * *

Angus crawled his way back to consciousness as if out of a deep hole to find himself propped up in bed against a pile of pillows. Blankets covered him and he ached all over. Groggily, he looked about the room and recognized it as Cathbad's chamber. No one else seemed to be in the room. He shifted, trying to sit up, only to have his side flare with a sharp pain. He gave a cry, one hand flying over to cover the offending spot, and collapsed back against the pillows.

Almost immediately, his vision was filled with Aideen's glittering form and fluttering wings, hovering only about a foot from his face. "Angus! You're awake!" she exclaimed. "Thank goodness!"

"Aideen?" he asked, still somewhat in a fog. "How'd I get here?"

"Rohan brought you here after you were hurt," she said, "how are you feeling?"

"Like a piece o' lamb on the end of a knife," Angus grumbled, "some Knight I am. Can't even manage to fend off one guy with a dagger."

"Don't do that to yourself," Aideen said, earnestly, "he just surprised you, that's all. Besides, the blade was poisoned. Whoever it was, they must've really had it out for you."

Angus shot the fairy an annoyed look. "Thanks, Aideen," he said with sarcasm, "that makes it so much better." Flopping his head back and giving a sigh as he looked up at the underside of the upper bunk, he fell silent for a long moment. "I'm sure Cet's crowing right about now. Sayin' it's proof I'm not cut out to be a Mystic Knight. A common thief like me."

" _Former_  thief," Aideen corrected, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly, "don't pay any attention to that guy. If I were ten times my size... ooh, I'd show him where he can stick it! I might show him, anyways. We fairies are good at giving people bad luck, you know." She gave him a mischievous grin.

This didn't seem to bring out a response. Angus just continued to stare up at the upper bunk, as if studying the grain of the wood there, deep in thought. He didn't even notice the crestfallen look Aideen's grin faded into.

"Maybe this will cheer you up a bit," the fairy said, getting another idea. She flittered over to the pile of Angus' things, where they had been bundled up and left the previous night. With a heave, she picked up the large, hammer-shaped, pewter pendant that he had retrieved the night before. Wings flapping furiously, she held it up by the cord and brought it over to him. "This fell out of your pouch last night," she said, handing it to him, "how long have you had that?"

Somewhat absently, Angus took hold of the pendant and pondered it. "Ever since I can remember," Angus said, "Brighde always kept it shut away, like she was afraid of me havin' it. Guess she thought I would lose it or something. But, reckon I can keep track of it myself, now." He poked at the pendant, setting it spinning slowly on the end of its cord.

"What a wonder!" Aideen exclaimed. "I haven't seen one of those in ages!"

That got Angus' attention. His eyes snapped over to look at her in confusion. "Aideen, do you know what this is?" he asked her with surprise.

"Well, sure I do," Aideen replied with a giggle, "I may not have seen its like in a few hundred years, but it's not something that you forget about."

"You know what this is!" Angus repeated in disbelief, sitting up again, stiffly, the pain in his side all but forgotten.

"Of course! Don't you?"

"No," Angus said in amazement, "no, Brighde never told me. I don't know anything about it, not even what it says. What kinda writing is this, anyway?"

"It's ancient Celtic," Aideen replied, "it says 'action to match our speech.' It's part of the motto of the ancient Fianna warriors. All the sons of the Fianna clans were given those."

"Fianna?" Angus asked. "Who're they?"

"They were the greatest warriors of their time!" Aideen declared. "Princes among men! Honorable, loyal, and just. I saw them do many great deeds in their time."

"Where are they now?"

"No one quite knows what happened to them," Aideen answered, sounding a little sad at the prospect, "they just sort of faded out of the world."

Angus looked back down to the pendant, resting in the palm of his hand. He turned it over thoughtfully. "Why would I have something like this?"

For her part, Aideen plucked up again with excitement, flittering about his head in glee. "Angus! What if you're descended from those clans! You might be a Fianna!"

Angus glanced back up at her with naked skepticism. "Yeah right," he scoffed, "me, one of these great warriors of old. You shouldn't kid, Aideen. I'm being serious."

The fairy put her hands on her hips, looking slightly offended. "So was I. Why else would you have it?"

"I don't know," Angus admitted looking back down at the pendant again. He pondered it for a long moment. Aideen's last question had been rather pointed, but he just couldn't believe it. He was nothing; just a kid no one wanted. "But I bet I know who might," he said, finally, pulling the cord over his head so the pendant dangled from his neck. In one quick motion, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made to stand up. But as soon as he was upright, pain lanced through his side again, sapping his strength. His knees nearly buckled under him and he had to hold on to the bed post for support.

"Angus!" Aideen exclaimed. "What are you doing?! You shouldn't be getting up! You're hurt!" She hovered nearby, all but reaching out as if she could hold him up if he fell.

"I need to see Fin Varra," Angus said, sounding a little shaky, but marshalling himself none the less.

"Right now?" Aideen pressed. "You shouldn't go, now. Not in the condition you're in. You need to rest and heal. The pendant will still be there afterward."

Angus shook his head and stiffy and went over to his bundle of things to put himself together. "This is important," he said, "I've been waiting my entire life to find out where I came from. I'm not waiting any longer. I deserve to know if I really am just a worthless street rat." With a pained grimace, he lifted his mace on to his shoulder, then steeled himself for a moment and strode out of the door with purpose.

* * *

Aideen flittered around Cathbad's chamber for several minutes pondering what to do; the fairy equivalent of anxious pacing. Her first impulse had been to chase after Angus, but she knew there was no way she could stop him. She had gone to the window that looked out over the throne room, hoping to get Rohan's attention. Maybe he could stop Angus from running himself into the ground. But the meeting there had broken up and she had no idea where Cathbad, the king, or the other knights might have gone.

It only took a few minutes for Aideen's anxiety to turn into other emotions. She was scared that Angus was not well enough to make the trip to Tir Na Nog. She was afraid that everyone would blame her for not stopping him from leaving. But mostly, she was angry at a certain Lord of Cluain Bolg for setting her friend down this self-destructive path in the first place.

Who was Cet to say anything? He didn't know the first thing about being a Mystic Knight! He couldn't comprehend what they had been through to prove themselves worthy!

It was then that Aideen got it in her head to give Cet a piece of her mind. It was high time someone told him exactly what they thought of him. And so, she flew outside the castle, circling around until she found the window of the chamber that Cet was using for his stay.

The man was pacing back and forth with the chamber door closed and locked, like a wild animal agitated to activity. He wore a look of pure rage on his face. Aideen perched on the window casement for a moment, watching him as he loosened the collar of his tunic, undoing the tiny annular pin that had been holding the keyhole neckline closed. She was just about to fly right into his face and launch into a tirade when he turned in his pacing to face her again.

The wind left her wings. In shock, she fell back to the edge of the window, peering around the side where he couldn't see her.

On a cord around his neck, there was a hammer-shaped pendant wrought of pewter. It looked very nearly identical to the one Angus had.

" _Beart de réir ár mbriathar_ ," he muttered to himself, grasping the pendant in one hand. He stopped pacing and stood there for a long moment. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.

Aideen watched Cet walk over to the corner of the chamber. He worked at a stone in the wall near the floor for several long moments until it finally came loose in his hand, leaving a hole in the wall. He reached inside and pulled out a sheathed dagger. He weighed it in hand for a moment before attaching it to the back of his belt pouch so that it was hidden. Then, he fit the stone back into its place in the wall and stood again.

Cet stood still for a moment, gathering himself, one hand reverently resting on his belt pouch, as if the most important thing in the world were kept within. He once again closed the collar of his tunic and then pulled a cloak on over him before exiting his chamber.

Aideen was left reeling. It had been three-hundred years since she had seen anyone with the Hammer of the Fianna. And now, here she had seen it twice in the same day. Angus having one was mystery enough. But Cet, as well? It was far too much of a coincidence.

"There's something he's not telling us," she decided, "and I'm going to find out what."

She didn't bother with getting anything to keep herself warm. She would be traveling at her top speed and that would keep her just fine. It was a long trip for a Human, on foot, traveling by roads. But for a fairy, flying in a straight line and using her magical top speed, Aideen figured she could be to Cluain Bolg and back in just a few hours.

* * *

Angus stumbled to a halt, leaning against a tree as he came to the stone table that marked the entrance to Tir Na Nog. His side ached and the world swam about his head. As he closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, gathering his strength, he was forced to admit that maybe Aideen had been right; maybe he wasn't in any kind of shape for a trip like this.

But he didn't care. For the first time in his life, Angus had some sort of a lead to find out where he had come from. He wasn't about to sit idle, convalescing in Cathbad's chamber, with this whole thing dangling in front of his face, just out of reach. By Dagda, he was going to  _do something_  about it.

When the world stopped spinning around him, and he was certain that his legs weren't about to give out, Angus pushed himself up from the tree and wandered over to the stone table. For a long moment, he pondered the red gem inset into its surface. He began to reach out to put his hand over it, but pulled back again, hesitating.

"What if Fin Varra doesn't know anything?" he asked the open air. "He's testy on a good day. He won't appreciate my just barging in and going off. Come to think of it, I'm not really sure what made me think he knows anything, anyway. What's a fairy king got to do with the past of a worthless cast-off like me?" He paced a few feet, looking away from the stone table and running his hands through his hair. "Ah, listen to me! I sound like I'm tryin' to get out of it. All right so maybe it's a long shot, but... who else do I know remembers history hundreds of years old? Not even Cathbad can tell me." He turned back to the stone table and leaned against it. "Still, I shouldn't get my hopes up, right? He'll probably tell me that it belongs to someone else anyway. What's a guy like me...?" He broke off again, looking at the red gem once more. "Yeah, that's what yer really afraid of, aren't you, Angus? C'mon. You came all the way out here. Stop dithering like an old granny."

At last, Angus drew himself up, taking a few deep breaths, as much to calm his nerves as to gather his strength. Steeling himself, he thrust his hand out and held it over the gem. A familiar warm tingle spread over his body as he felt the magic of the portal take hold. As quickly as it had come, it retreated again and he found himself standing in the little cavern that was the throne hall of Fin Varra, King of Tir Na Nog.

"Finally," Fin Varra said, looking up at him from his little throne with impatience, "I was beginning to think you were going to pace back and forth out there all day."

A general twitter of laughter erupted from the fairies of Fin Varra's court and Angus shifted under their combined gaze.

"You could see I was up there?"

"Of course I could," Fin Varra replied, indignantly, "just what sort of a fairy king do you think I would be if I couldn't tell who was standing right outside my door?"

The fairies gave another collective giggle. Angus suddenly remembered why he didn't like coming here. He wasn't really sure what to say in response and the cavern had begun to tilt a little under his legs. He looked away, leaning against the wall for a moment.

"Are you quite all right?" Fin Varra asked. "You just went pale as a will-o-wisp." There was a general murmur of concern from the crowd at this.

"I'm fine," Angus said, stubbornly pushing away from the wall. He reached for the pendant and took it off. Crouching down, he set it on the floor near Fin Varra's throne, so the fairy king could take a closer look. "I came to find out if you knew anything about this."

Fin Varra stood up from his throne and took a closer look. On all sides, the rest of the fairy court also pressed in, each vying for position to try and get a better look.

"The Hammer of the Fianna," Fin Varra said with curiosity, "my goodness, I haven't seen one of these in a while."

"That's what Aideen said, too," said Angus, "she's got it in her head that it means I'm a Fianna Warrior. I'm just tryin' to find out how I might ha' come by it."

Fin Varra looked up at him, something akin to suspicion in his gaze. While the rest of the court chattered in low tones, he went back to his throne and sat once more, resting his hands on top of his short, gnarled wood staff. The fairy king looked up at Angus with an appraising eye.

"And just how do  _you_  think it came to be in your hands?" he asked.

Angus hated it when Fin Varra gave him that look. It utterly obliterated any desire he had to be gracious.

"Well, I wouldn't be here asking about it if I knew, now would I?" he blurted out testily. "Can you tell me where it came from or no? Whose is it?"

"You've had it since you were a babe," Fin Varra replied as if the answer was obvious, "it seems to me that it belongs to you."

"Yeah, but why?" Angus pressed. "If this is something that was worn by great and noble warriors of old, how'd it come to me?"

"Why shouldn't it?" Fin Varra asked, the picture of innocence.

"Oh, c'mon, Fin Varra, you know why," Angus snapped back, "you know what I am."

"Yes," said Fin Varra, evenly, "you're Angus of Kells, the Mystic Knight of Earth. I don't see how a pewter pendant changes that."

"I don't mean that an' you know it," Angus blurted out, angrily, swooping down to pick up the pendant again, sending the fairies of the court clambering to get out of his way as he did so. "Look, I'm not in the mood for your fairy games, all right? I should have known better than to ask you for help. We both know you don't like me and that I'm just a Mystic Knight because you needed a fourth. So if you're not going to help me-"

"Silence!" Fin Varra shouted, coming to his feet, looking wroth. Angus could have sworn he saw the various little fires and candles that lit the hall flicker and dim for a moment. "It is not for you to question the judgement of the Little People in such matters! How dare you!"

Angus found that he was holding his breath. His side shot through with pain again and the cavern tilted. He leaned his head against the cool stone, still hearing Fin Varra's reproach echoing. The rest of the fairy court had gone silent. The heavy sigh the fairy king gave only served to cut through the silence like a knife.

"Everyone out," Fin Varra ordered, "I will speak to Angus alone."

Sullenly, the rest of the fairies all began to file out of the cavern, through various little nooks and crannies along the floor. They were all muttering as they went, as if they had just been deprived of the most exciting entertainment they had had all day. As the last of the court left, Fin Varra calmed himself and lightly sat on his throne again.

"Oh, for goodness sake, lad, you aren't fooling anyone," the fairy king said to Angus, "I know you're unwell. Sit down already, before you fall down." When Angus looked up at him, face pale and askance, he rapped the end of his staff on the stair of his throne. "Sit!"

Mustering his strength and putting a hand over his sore side, Angus reluctantly came forward and sat in the middle of the floor, taking up most of the space. He tried and failed to suppress the grunt of pain that came from him as he did. Fin Varra waited until he was settled, then sat looking at him for a long, silent moment.

"You are not well, Angus," he said at last, "you should not have come all this way."

Angus wasn't sure what he had been expecting from the fairy king, but he was reasonably certain that earnest concern hadn't been anywhere on the map.

"You're not the first to say," Angus admitted, "and you're probably right. You're usually right."

"Yes, I can be quite irritating that way," Fin Varra replied, "a thousand years of wisdom will do that to a person, after all. But since you're here, how about you ask what it is you  _really_  came to ask."

"I just came to ask about the pendant and the Fianna, that's all," said Angus, "I just want to find out where it rightly belongs."

Fin Varra shook his head, leaning forward on his little staff, then looked up at him again in that curious way he had of still managing to look like he was looking down at you. "No, no," he said, "that is not what you wanted to ask. It rightly belongs to you. You wanted to ask why it is that  _you have it_."

Angus scoffed and looked away, as if about to say that Fin Varra just didn't understand, in the way a petulant tween might roll their eyes at a parent.

"Oh come, boy!" Fin Varra exclaimed. "It's only the two of us. And you've never been particularly concerned with impressing me before. Don't start now."

"Why  _should_  I have it?"

"Why  _shouldn't_  you?"

Angus ran a hand through his hair and then looked back to Fin Varra with no small measure of annoyance. "You're really going to make me say it, aren't you?" The fairy king gazed back at him with a deep look, swirling with the patience of someone who literally had all the time in the world. "All right, fine. I'll say it. I'm not like the other Mystic Knights. I'm not a prince or a destined warrior or anything. I can't even really be called an upstanding member of the community. No family, no one to give me any kind of lofty legacy. Me own parents didn't even want me, so they shoved me off on some old lady. I can't be some great warrior clansman. I'm nothing, all right? You finally got me to say it."

Fin Varra let that hang in the air for a long moment, seeming to consider his next words carefully.

"What makes you think your parents didn't want you?"

"Well, they're not around, are they?"

"And just what do you know of them?"

"Well, nothing," Angus replied, bitterly, "I was a wee babe in arms when they left me with Brighde. I don't remember them at all."

"Well, it seems easy enough for you to think they simply didn't want you without knowing anything about them," stated Fin Varra, "which means you mustn't think very highly of who you came from. You're so ready to think the worst of yourself. Is it so difficult to believe that you might have come from a family with greatness in their line? Is it really so hard for you to think that your parents may have been good people? And that you might be one as well?"

Angus didn't have an answer. He felt like he should have. He felt like he was supposed to have some biting remark to throw back at Fin Varra, some irrefutable proof that such a thing was impossible. But he just... didn't. And so he sat there, looking down at the pendant in his hand in silence.

"Would it surprise you to learn that I've been watching you for a very long time, Angus?" Fin Varra pressed on.

"Me?" Angus asked, looking up at him again with confusion. "What's so interesting about an orphan thief?"

"The way you came to Emain Macha, of course," Fin Varra answered, "it isn't every day that a child is simply left with an old woman, after all. Let alone with a pendant that's hardly been seen in hundreds of years."

"You were there!" Angus exclaimed with realization. "When I was left with Brighde! You saw-"

"Don't get excited, boy," Fin Varra interrupted, "not me personally. But many of the Little Folk go abroad, day and night. So when someone brought me news of a young couple with a wee babe hurrying through the forest like wolves were on their tails, I had them watched. And it peaked my curiosity when I was told that they had crept up on the very edge of Emain Macha in the dead of night and tearfully handed their babe to a kind old woman."

The words hit Angus like a stone falling from the sky. He was struck dumb with the revelations. "They were... running from something...?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "From what?"

"That I was never able to learn, I'm afraid," said Fin Varra, regretfully, "but I do know that it broke their hearts to leave you behind. They didn't leave you with the old woman Brighde because they didn't want you, Angus. They left you with her to _hide_ you from something."


	3. Chapter 3

Angus felt a little sick and it wasn't just from his injury. He sat in stunned silence for a long time, utterly stupefied. Fin Varra simply waited, sitting back in his throne and watching him. Angus looked up at him and found that he couldn't bare the concern in the old fairy's gaze. So he looked down at the pendant in his hand again, then at a far wall, at anything that wasn't the fairy king himself.

"All this time," Angus finally managed, "I just thought all this time that they just... didn't want me."

"Not only that," Fin Varra added, "they also wanted you to know where you came from, one day. So they left you with that pendant. And do you know what your mother said as she gave it to you? I'm told she could barely get the words out, she was so choked up."

"What did she say?" Angus asked, barely feeling as if the words were leaving his own mouth.

"She said 'farewell, my darling little Fianna warrior.'"

It was like another punch in the gut. The cavern spun around him and he dropped his face into his hands, desperate to pull air into his lungs. Mercifully, Fin Varra waited again in silence for him to come back to himself. When Angus finally looked up again, it was with effort that he fought back the moisture that was growing in the corners of his eyes.

"And you knew all this time?" he asked. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because Brighde was always meant to tell you, one day," Fin Varra answered, "when she died, you were still so young. And such a willful, stubborn child. If you had known about it, you would have run off on your own to go find your parents. And, since I can only assume that they hid you for a very good reason, I couldn't allow that to happen. And I will admit, that as you grew up, I... started to have doubts about you, about the way you had chosen to live your life, as a thief. I still had my doubts even when you came with Rohan and the others to quest for the Mystic Armor. And even when you were found worthy of being the Mystic Knight of Earth, I still hesitated. I knew it would be difficult. I had to be certain that you were ready to hear it."

Angus looked down at the pendant again, turning it over and over in his hand, his mind still reeling and struggling to come to terms with the story.

"So... what do I do now?" he finally asked.

"Do?" Fin Varra asked. "You don't  _need_  to do anything. None of this changes who you are, who you've made yourself into. You are Angus of Kells, the Mystic Knight of Earth. You would not have the armor if you were not meant to have it." He rapped his staff on the stair of his throne again, returning to the cranky old fairy that Angus knew so well. "So enough of this feeling sorry for yourself." He stood up from his throne, drawing himself up to his full ten inches of height and yet still managing to look down his nose at the much larger human dominating the room. "I have better things to do than sit here and babysit you. So collect yourself. And then  _go home_. Rest. No doubt your friends are worried sick over you."

And then, with an indignant huff that Angus had come to expect from the fairy king, Fin Varra made for the exit nearest his throne. But for the first time, Angus had the feeling that he was only keeping up appearances.

He sat there, alone, for several minutes. Finally, he slipped the cord of the pendant back over his head and stood up to leave.

* * *

Rohan stalked back into the castle through the gate, hurried and very unhappy. One of the guards looked like he was about to ask what was happening, but thought better of it when he saw Rohan's face. Clearly, the guard decided that he was not in the mood to face the wrath of the Mystic Knight of Fire.

He wanted to slap Angus into another and better incarnation. After the meeting with the king, he and Cathbad had returned to the old Druid's chamber to check on the ailing knight and to see how Aideen was getting on with keeping an eye on him. But when they walked into the chamber, neither knight nor fairy were anywhere to be found.

This had set off a frenzy of a search. Rohan had made for Emain Macha to check their hut and see if the idiot had decided to stagger back home, for some strange reason. No such luck. And no one in town had seen Angus at all.

Rohan made straight for Cathbad's chamber and found not only Cathbad himself but also Deirdre and Ivar waiting. Their eyes all snapped to him as he entered.

"Did you find him?" Deirdre asked.

"No, he's isn't in the village," Rohan replied, "and no sign of Aideen, either."

"He isn't anywhere in or around the castle, either," Ivar said

"Where could that stubborn fool have gone?" Deirdre fussed. "He's in no condition to be going anywhere."

"I can't believe Aideen let him go," Ivar commented, "do you suppose she went with him?"

"As if Aideen could stop Angus when he's put his mind to something," said Rohan, bitterly.

"That's true enough," Deirdre agreed with a slight roll of her eyes.

"There is more news to be concerned with," Cathbad put in, "Lord Cet is also missing."

Rohan looked over at Cathbad in alarm, drawing the obvious conclusion. "Do we know when he left?" he asked. "Could it have something to do with Angus going missing?"

"No one knows," Ivar replied, "no one has seen him leave. But he isn't anywhere in the castle. I would expect Angus would be able to get in and out of the castle without being seen, but not Cet. He's never been here before."

"I really don't like where this is going," said Deirdre with dread.

"If Lord Cet has a way to get in and out of the castle without being seen, it rather puts suspicion back on him for the attack on Angus," said Cathbad, "he could be in very great danger."

Their conversation was interrupted by footsteps and a rattle of chainmail and gear. A guard appeared at the doorway and immediately took a knee.

"Princess, the king urgently requires your presence and that of the other Mystic Knights in the throne hall," he said, sounding a little rattled.

Wordlessly, Cathbad and the three knights all looked to each other for a moment, then they all sped from the chamber and down to the throne hall. Rohan could tell that they were each thinking the exact same thing; what  _else_  is happening?

Rohan was first through the entry way into the throne hall. Conchobar was there, bent over the table, looking at a map. On either side of him, there were soldiers conferring with him. The king looked grim. It could only mean one thing.

"Is it Temra?" Deirdre asked, beating everyone else to the punch.

The king looked up as they entered and approached, giving quick bows. Conchobar nodded to the soldiers who both inclined their heads with respect and then melted away so the king could speak to the knights.

"I'm afraid so," Conchobar replied, "they're attacking our northern border."

"Maeve has probably gotten wind that Angus is down for the count," Ivar said, "we're weakened."

"No doubt," the king agreed.

"Just what we need right now," Rohan carped, frustrated.

"Father, there's more trouble," Deirdre put in, "Angus is missing. He's nowhere in the castle and we can't find him."

"He left?" the king exclaimed, incredulously. "That reckless..."

"Lord Cet is missing, too, my king," said Rohan, "it seems he has a way to get in and out of the castle unseen. I think he's gone after Angus."

"The timing of this cannot be any worse," Conchobar said with a sigh, leaning on the edge of the table and again pondering the map. He closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly bracing himself for what he was about to say. "I fear for Angus as much as the rest of you, but the people of Kells  _must_  come first," he said, drawing himself back up to his full height, "go to the northern border and lead our soldiers there. Cathbad and I will continue to do what we can to find Angus."

His heart falling into his feet, Rohan gave a nod to the king, then exchanged glances with Deirdre and Ivar again. He could see that they were both as conflicted as he was. But all three of them knew that the king was right. The people of Kells had to be defended. And so, without another word, the three Mystic Knights rushed from the throne hall to be on their way.

* * *

If Aideen hadn't been so afraid for her friends, she might have come to an exhausted halt and flopped over in a heap. But she flew on, making her way back to Emain Macha even faster than she had gone to Cluain Bolg in the first place. The news she had for them was perilous and could not wait another second.

The little fairy beat her wings as hard as she could manage, flying through the naked branches of the sleeping trees, missing them only by a hair's breadth. She was almost back to Kells Castle and then, only then, could she blurt out her news in breathless exhaustion and take a well-deserved rest.

The clash of metal on metal and the twang of bow strings brought her to a sudden halt. She knew that sound well. The Humans were fighting each other again and that meant that Rohan and the other Mystic Knights were likely to be nearby, joining in to help defend Kells. The telltale sounds of the mystic weapons reached her ears and finally made her decision. Swiftly, Aideen altered course, following the sounds of battle.

Breaking through the tree-line, she came upon the scene and had to halt to take stock of the situation. Two rough lines of soldiers were clashing, the red-clad Kellsmen and the indigo-clothed Temrans. The fight had obviously been going for some time, as the line was no longer distinct. In fact, it really could have been better described as a series of knots of fighting; the result of several battle maneuvers having taken place.

At the head of one of the groups of Kells soldiers, she spotted Rohan, holding the Sword of Kells aloft and shouting for a press. Beating swords on shields and plunging in with spears, the knot of Kellsmen finally succeeded in pushing back that group of Temra soldiers. Rohan was just turning to find his next task, so Aideen took advantage of the pause, such as it was.

"Rohan! Rohan!" she shouted, darting through the bedlam of the battle to get to him, narrowly missing an arrow or two that tried to occupy her same space.

Rohan turned to see her and moved to meet her part way. But, as it was, he only made it a few steps before Aideen reached him. She was gasping, heaving for breath.

"Aideen! Where have you been?" he asked her in alarm. "Angus is missing and Temra is attacking. I need you to go back to the castle-"

"No, no," Aideen exclaimed around deep breaths, "Angus isn't missing. He went to Tir Na Nog. He wanted to talk to Fin Varra."

"What? Whatever for?" Rohan asked aghast.

"It's a long story. But Rohan, there's something else. I had a very bad feeling about Cet, so I went to Cluain Bolg to find out what we didn't know about him. Cet isn't the Lord of Cluain Bolg. He isn't even from Cluain Bolg at all! No one there has even heard of him! He's been lying to us this whole time!"

"To get into the castle!" Rohan exclaimed in realization. "If Angus went to Tir Na Nog, then he'll be safe for now. Go to the castle and warn the king and Cathbad that Cet isn't who he claims. He may be in league with Maeve."

With a nod, Aideen mustered what was left of her energy and darted off, making for Kells Castle with as much speed as she had been using before she stopped to talk to Rohan.

* * *

Angus was severely regretting his choice to go and talk to Fin Varra so soon. His head was swimming as he trudged back through the woods, away from Tir Na Nog. He was still going over and over everything that the fairy king had told him, still not entirely believing it. But as his hike wore on, it was actually the wound in his side that was causing him the most trouble. It was practically on fire and a new lance of pain shot through it with nearly every step he took.

There was a river that lied on the path from Emain Macha to Tir Na Nog. It's wasn't terribly deep, so most of the time Angus would just wade across it if he was traveling alone. It allowed for a straighter path from the village to the hidden fairy halls. But he knew he was in no shape for a swim, especially with how cold it was. It was the winter solstice, after all, and that meant that the days would start growing longer, but the cold would grow stronger. So Angus' path veered slightly north, making for the river ford that was just a league off the main path he usually trod by himself.

When the ford was finally in sight, Angus stopped for a moment to lean heavily against a nearby tree. By Dagda, but he was tired. A chill ran up his spine at a gust of wind and he realized that his skin was clammy with exertion. As much as he wanted to get home again, he knew he needed to stop for a rest or he would work himself into a fever. But he didn't dare sit down. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get up again. So he contented himself with leaning on the wonderful, blessed, sturdy tree and let the sounds of the river and the waterfall not far off fill his mind in an effort to shut out the pain for just a few minutes.

He was jolted out of the reverie by the distinct sound of a snapping branch. It was a telltale sound of something heavy coming down on it. This time of the year, Angus knew, there weren't any animals big enough to break a twig like that without considerable more noise. A moment later and there was another snap, faint, but just loud enough for him to hear.

Those skills never went away, the stealth-craft he had picked up as a thief. And that sixth sense that told him that someone was nearby, watching him, was suddenly foremost in his mind, making his skin crawl. Carefully, slowly, he reached for the handle of his mace, getting a firm grip on it.

Faintly, now, he began to hear the sound of soft footsteps on the snow-dappled ground behind him. They were close. Angus would give them a surprise of his own. Patiently, he waited until he could hear the steps plain as day. There was a soft, slow rattle of fabric and chainmail and Angus could sense danger about to come from above.

As his silent enemy made his move, Angus made his. He spun on the ball of his foot and held his mace aloft, stretching the chain out between the handle and the stone. Sparks flew as metal clashed down on it.

The impact seemed to jolt reality. Where there had been nothing but thin air when Angus had first turned, a chainmail-clad warrior, wearing Temra colors and wielding a short sword shimmered into existence. Angus saw nothing but two ravenously angry eyes peering back at him from the full helm the warrior was wearing.

Angus moved first, crossing his arms to make his hands switch places, wrapping the chain of his mace around the sword. He let the stone swing, then, pulling the whole thing to the side and tearing the sword from the warrior's grasp. But this left Angus open to an attack from below and the warrior drove a gauntleted fist right into the wound on Angus' left side.

Angus gave a yelp as shock went through his body and felt his legs give way. He stumbled backward, splashing into the shallow waters of the ford, trying to keep his feet and finally, finding himself on his knees in the cold water, mace dangling from one hand and the other covering his side.

The warrior, meanwhile, had taken the opportunity to recover his sword and was now standing on the sandy edge of the ford, pointing it at Angus.

"Cet, I presume," Angus gasped out, slowly climbing to his feet. He wasn't certain how he knew, but he did.

"Well done," said the warrior, clearly surprised that he hadn't gotten the drop on Angus. With one hand, he reached up and pulled off his helm and tossed it aside, revealing that he was, indeed, the very man who had made Angus' last two days miserable.

Cet's eyes flickered down to Angus' chest, lighting on the pendant. "So it  _is_  you, as I suspected," he said, "at long last, I have you, here in the wilds, no one to defend you this time. Not your friend Draganta and not your father."

"What do you know of my father?" Angus spat.

"I once knew him quite well," Cet snarled, reaching into the neck of his chain shirt to pull out a pendant on a leather cord. It dangled in front of him and Angus could see that it was almost exactly the same as the one that was around his own neck. "I once counted him as a brother," Cet went on, "seeing as he married my sister. The blood of our Fianna ancestors runs clear in you...  _nephew_." The last word he thrust out as an evil invective.

Cet let his pendant drop back to his chest and charged forward with his sword in both hands, giving a vicious war-cry. Angus turned the attack aside with a sweep of his mace's handle, dodging to the side and not knowing if his exhausted legs would be capable of the movement.

That set the fight in motion and Angus started the stone of his mace swinging, knowing that its power was in the unrelenting weight of its movement. With his other hand, he desperately grabbed the crosspiece of Cet's sword and grappled it around, out of harm's way. As the stone of Angus' mace came flying toward him, Cet shook himself free and vaulted backward, the water of the ford kicking up around him.

"If we're kin, then why are you trying to kill me?" Angus shouted at him as he, too, backed up in order to get some space between them.

"Don't imagine it's anything lofty or ambitious," Cet snarled back, "it's a simple matter of you or me. You were a threat to me the very day you were born." Cet marshaled himself and renewed his attack, moving quickly to close the distance between them with a vicious rising cut of his sword. Angus only barely got his mace around in time to knock it aside and they charged past each other, switching places as the water churned up around their feet.

"How could I be a threat to you!?" Angus asked, desperate for understanding.

"A Druid foretold it at your birth," Cet replied, angrily, "that one day you would grow into a man and kill me. I will  _not_  wait for that day like a meek lamb!"

"Looks like you're too late," Angus said, "I'm a man already."

"You are a  _boy_!" Cet shouted. "Raised in the mud! Playing at being a knight! But, I will admit, a dangerous one." Carefully, he reached into a pouch on his belt and held out a crest, no larger than his fist, emblazoned with the wolf of Temra. "I failed to kill you as a babe and as a brooding wanderer in the night. I will not fail a third time."

Angus' vision swam for a second and for just a moment, he felt his throat close as if someone was crushing his neck. It was then that he realized that the dream that had plagued him as a child and that had returned only the night before was not a dream at all, but a memory. He shook his head to clear it, but the instant was enough that Cet had completely disappeared from sight.

Angus glanced around, trying to find his adversary. Then, there was a churning of water behind him and something hard struck his back, sending Angus to his knees. A little dazed, Angus watched as the water of the ford churned again, moving to his side, as if feet were disturbing the water. But there was nothing there. Something hit the side of his head a moment later, sending him sprawling into the water. He hadn't seen a thing.

As he rolled to his feet and got up, a small part of his mind told him that whatever that crest was that Cet had, it was obviously some sort of a magical item. He looked around again for the churn of the water in the ford, knowing it would be the only warning he would have against the invisible attack. There was no movement and he started his mace swinging again, round in a circle as he cast about and the world tilted under him a bit. He set his stance wider, trying to keep from losing his feet. The wound in his side was piercing, but he had no choice but to ignore it as the rush of battle filled him.

Two quick splashes to his side were enough warning for Angus to bring his mace around, swinging low, sweeping through the area just above the water where the splashes had materialized. The chain found something solid and Angus heard Cet give a yelp. He appeared again, becoming visible as he stumbled forward, about to fall. Angus was already bringing his mace around for a follow-up blow, right where Cet was going to land. But then, Cet's motion abruptly stopped and he halted, hovering in mid-air. Angus' mace met only the ground and before he could recover, he found Cet walking in the air above him, slashing at his head in a savage downward attack. Angus only just manage to roll out of the way, feeling the cold and unyielding ground of the ford taking its toll on his wound. A new lance of pain shot through Angus and he was unable to roll all the way to his feet again.

Cet was regrouping, hovering in mid-air with black motes of darkness swirling about him as if to hold him up.

"You're in league with Maeve, then?" he shouted. "Hiding behind her magic?" Shakily, Angus climbed to his feet again. "Fine. I've got my own," he said, taking his mace in both hands and holding it aloft.

"Earth beneath me!"

* * *

Rohan sped back through the forest as fast as he could manage, heading for Kells Castle. Deirdre and Ivar were hot on his heels. They had left the soldiers to deal with the aftermath of the battle at the border in favor of rushing back to Emain Macha to defend it from whatever Cet had planned. Rohan's course had drifted a little southward, hoping that they would come across Angus on his way back from Tir Na Nog and warn him of Cet's treachery.

"C'mon, we haven't much time," he shouted an encouragement back at Ivar and Deirdre.

"If Cet is in league with Maeve," Deirdre said between breaths, "that explains how he got in and out of the castle."

"Magic," Ivar agreed, "is there no end to her trickery?"

Rohan was brought to a halt by the sound of metal ringing on metal. From the sound of it, it was somewhere near the river. He brought Deirdre and Ivar to a halt and hushed them, listening.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Someone's still fighting?" Ivar surmised.

"This far from the battle?" Deirdre said skeptically.

A quake gently rocked the ground beneath their feet, sending them all reeling for a moment. The shock wave rolled off into the distance, fading as it went.

"I know that tremor," said Rohan.

"Angus!" Deirdre and Ivar exclaimed together.

All three were in motion, heading straight in the direction that the shock wave had come from. They found themselves on the path to the ford in short order. As they rounded the bend and the ford came into view, they were met with the sight of a pitched battle between their comrade in arms and the very many they had been speeding to thwart.

Angus had summoned his armor and there was little doubt as to the reason. Hazy spots of black fog whirled around Cet, seemingly coming from an object he held in his left hand. A sword was in his right, striking over and over at Angus as they whirled back and forth, the water of the ford spitting around them.

Angus had managed to put some ground between him and Cet, backing toward the deeper edge of the ford, not far from the waterfall. But the spots of black fog coalesced around Cet a moment later and then there was a blur of movement so fast Rohan could hardly see it. It flew straight toward Angus and then the Mystic Knight of Earth was on his knees in the water. Cet materialized out of the smoke again.

"C'mon!" Rohan shouted to Deirdre and Ivar.

All three of them charged forward, letting off blasts from their weapons. They impacted the ground right next to Cet who stumbled back and looked up in surprise at the reinforcements that were heading for their friend.

"No!" he shouted, enraged. He held out the object in his hand.

The motes of fog swirled forth toward Rohan, Deirdre, and Ivar and spread into a wall. Out of the riverbed burst a wall of black, thorny vines, thick as a warrior's arm. The three knights skidded to a halt, kicking up the shallows of the ford.

"You will not save him this time!" Cet shouted.

Rohan desperately looked from side to side, trying to find the edge to the wall of thorns. But it continued around, surrounding Angus and Cet on all sides but that of the waterfall.

"Angus!" Rohan shouted in desperation, seeing that his friend was still on his knees in the water, looking spent.

The call seemed to rally him somewhat and slowly, unsteadily, Angus climbed to his feet once more. "Now what are you going to do?" he grumbled at Cet. "I've seen that thing turn you invisible, make ya fast, and make ya fly, but never more than one at a time. I bet that wall of thorns is all you can do right now."

"You're all but done," Cet snarled back, "or do you think I can't see you stumbling as we exchange blows? I don't need this to deal with you." With that, he dropped the object that was in his hand, letting it clatter to rest on top of a nearby stone sticking out of the water. With a yell, he took up his sword in both hands and charged for Angus again.

Rohan could see that his friend was not his usual, nimble self. He was rooted and sluggish, only barely meeting Cet's attacks with parries and throwing hardly any attacks of his own. Desperately, Rohan motioned Deirdre and Ivar back from the wall of thorns and then unleashed fire upon them. But they remained unscathed. Ivar and Deirdre joined in with lightning and the sharp cut of wind, but there was still no effect. When those effects had passed, Rohan charged back to the wall of thorns again and pounded on them fiercely. He continued to pound on them even as his eyes returned to watch the fight.

Cet drove Angus back further into the deeps of the ford, toward the waterfall. When he could give ground no further, Angus spun his mace around at Cet's legs. Cet jumped back to avoid the attack and had to take a moment to regain his footing. The attack cost Angus dearly, though, as the unchecked momentum of his mace pulled him off his already precarious balance. His legs crumpled under him and he fell to his knees again, swaying. Cet wasted no time and renewed his attack again, making a mad charge for Angus, sword before him, point first, aimed right at the spot where Angus' eyes were showing between the crown of his helm and his mask.

For a moment, it looked like Angus wasn't going to be able to move in time and Rohan watched with horror as Cet bared down upon his friend, ready to strike the finishing blow at last. But with one last, desperate action, Angus threw himself to the side, letting the stone of his mace fly in the opposite direction, stretching the chain right across Cet's path, catching his feet. In his reckless charge, Cet could not stop and he tumbled forward, finally pitching over the waterfall with a terrified scream that ended abruptly in the distance.

Angus slowly climbed to his feet again and took several slow, agonizing steps back to the shallows of the ford, the stone of his mace dragging in the water behind him. He seemed sluggish as his eyes rested on the object that Cet had dropped. Then, he took a moment to summon one last reserve of strength to swing the stone of his mace high and bring it down on the object, crushing it to dust.

At once, the wall of thorns burst apart, dissolving into the motes of smoke once again before those, too, faded and vanished.

Angus stood there, looking at Rohan, Deirdre, and Ivar, swaying on his feet, the stone of his mace resting where it had landed. The handle of the mace dropped from his hand with a clatter and he wasn't far behind it. Angus' legs crumpled under him and the jolt of landing on his knees seemed to jar his armor back into the magical aether from whence it was summoned. Angus wavered for a moment before collapsing onto his side on the stone where his mace was resting. His wounded side was now plain to see and Rohan saw it covered in sticky red.

"Sweet Lugh!" Deirdre exclaimed.

Rohan was the first one in motion, the water of the ford splashing up around him as he ran. Deirdre and Ivar were only a step behind him. Ignoring the shock of the ice water, Rohan dropped to his knees in the shallows of the ford, grabbing Angus by the shoulders and shifting him up to keep his head out of the water. Angus gave a faint groan at the movement, but otherwise remained limp and unresponsive, his eyes closed and his face pale, a purpling bruise spreading on one side of his forehead.

"He's bleeding badly!" Rohan exclaimed. "Help me get him up! We need to get him back to Cathbad, quickly!"

Ivar was already crouched down, putting himself under one of Angus' shoulders before Rohan finished. Together, the two of them hoisted Angus up and began to carefully pick their way out of the ford. Deirdre picked up the mace and followed. Angus made no move to try and add any of his own power as they began their journey back to Kells Castle.

* * *

Rohan jerked his head up from dozing off one more time, just as he had done over and again for the last two days. Looking up at the still figure laid out in the bed next to where he sat on the floor, Rohan hoped that some change had roused him back out of sleep. But Angus was as still and pale as he had been for all this time, head and shoulders slightly inclined on a pile of pillows, his chest rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths.

Disappointed and frustrated, Rohan let his head loll back against the wall he was sitting against in Cathbad's chamber. He must have dozed off again because the next thing he knew, Deirdre was there, shaking his shoulder.

"Rohan, you really should get some proper rest," she admonished him, gently, "you've been sitting there for two days. I can sit with him for a while."

Tiredly, Rohan shook his head. "No, no, I'm not going anywhere. Not until he wakes up."

With a sad sigh, Deirdre's eyes slid away from him. She reached for a chair that was near the table and pulled it closer to sit on it. "Rohan," she said, gently, "it's been two days. He can't keep going like this for long." Rohan gave no response, his eyes fixed on the slack face of his best friend. "We may have to face up to the possibility," she said slowly, carefully, "that he might not wake up."

"I'm not leaving this spot," Rohan reaffirmed, sharply, "not until... not until... it's over... one way or another." He gave a sigh and pushed himself up off the floor to stand. "I feel so helpless," he muttered, "with everything we can do as Mystic Knights, this is the one thing I can't do anything about."

"I know how you feel," Deirdre agreed, wrapping her cloak around herself tighter, "just... sitting here and waiting for the scales to tip one way or the other."

Rohan leaned back against the wall, once again looking down at Angus. "He's my best friend, Deirdre," he said, almost pleadingly, "more than that, he's my brother in every way that matters. I can't do all this." He waved around the room, to indicate everything around him. "I can't be Draganta without him. He's..." He trailed off, searching for words that would not come.

"The rock at your feet?" Deirdre supplied.

Rohan gave a bitter chuckle. "I suppose so," he said.

They lapsed into a contemplative silence for several long minutes. Deirdre finally brought it to an end, seeing that Rohan was beginning to nod off where he stood.

"Ivar got back from talking to Fin Varra a while ago," she said, "he filled us in on what Angus went to Tir Na Nog to talk to him about."

"And?"

"Angus came to him to ask about that pendant we found him wearing."

"The one Aideen said was the Hammer of the Fianna?" Rohan asked.

Deirdre nodded. "Turns out, Fin Varra's known more about where Angus came from than any of us all this time. He doesn't know why, but apparently, Angus' parents left him with an old lady in Emain Macha when he was just a babe in order to hide him from something. And that pendant means that he might be descended from the Fianna themselves."

"By Dagda," Rohan breathed, "imagine that."

"That got Cathbad's mind going," Deirdre went on, "he snatched up the pendant hours ago and disappeared somewhere with it, saying he wanted to look into a few things."

Rohan gave a sigh. "That still doesn't explain why Cet was so intent on killing Angus," he said, "I just don't understand. He wasn't actually the Lord of Cluain Bolg, so being upset that Angus is of low birth was just a ruse. What could he possibly have against a man he'd never met?"

"I don't know," Deirdre sighed, "Angus might be the only one left who could tell us."

"He was my uncle."

The voice was so quiet and slow that neither Rohan nor Deirdre believe it at first. They both looked to each other for confirmation before their heads snapped around to look at Angus. They were both on their feet and kneeling next to the bed as soon as they realized that his eyes were open, slowly moving back and forth between them.

"Angus! You're awake!" Rohan exclaimed, grabbing hold of one of Angus' hands and allowing a smile of relief to light his features for the first time in days.

"Can you believe it?" Angus went on foggily, an odd smile on his face. "First relative I've ever met and he wants to kill me."

Rohan's grin deepened and he felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He couldn't help the happy chuckle that escaped him. "Well, that seems about normal, for you, anyway," he said.

Angus grinned further and caught a bit of Rohan's infectious laugh, though it remained shallow and a moment later it was cut off by a grimace of pain.

"How are you feeling?" Deirdre asked, resting a hand on Angus' shoulder.

"Bloody terrible," Angus murmured, his voice hoarse, "how do you think?"

Deirdre reached over to the table and plucked a tankard of water from it. She handed it to Rohan. She gave Angus another pat on the shoulder before turning to the door. "I'll go see if I can find the others," she said, exiting.

"Please tell me there's water in that," Angus said, flicking his eyes to the tankard in Rohan's hand.

"Here," Rohan said, shifting to get better leverage and help hold Angus' head up so that he could drink, "just take it slow." Slowly, taking small sips, Angus downed the entire tankard. When he had finished, Rohan set it aside.

"So," he ventured, "you're uncle, then?"

Angus gave a nod. "Apparently, some idiot Druid decided when I was born that I was going to grow up and kill him. Cet decided not to wait around for it to happen."

"So, he came after you," said Rohan, a little bewildered, "and ended up falling off of a waterfall to his death while trying to kill you."

Angus gave another weak chuckle. "Tricky things, Druid prophecies, I guess."

"Which is why they shouldn't be mocked," Cathbad's voice floated to them as the old man entered the chamber, "I see you're back with us at last."

"Yeah," Angus said, slowly and carefully shifting to push himself up a little more. He gave a wince when she shifted a little too much and that little bit of motion seemed to leave him drained. "An' I feel like a gutted fish."

Cathbad pulled Angus' pendant out of a pocket that was hidden somewhere on his person. "I believe this belongs to you," he said, handing it to Angus, "a very rare thing, the Hammer of the Fianna. In all my years I've never seen one."

"Well, I never even heard of it before all this," Angus said, taking the proffered item and letting it dangle as he contemplated it, "but yeah. I guess it really is mine, isn't it?"

"Is that so strange?" Ivar commented, having heard the last bit of conversation as he came in the door. "It's not unusual to have something tangible that connects you to where you come from."

"Well, it is for me," said Angus, a look of disbelief on his face as he contemplated the pendant, "I gotta wrap my mind around having a past that I didn't make meself, now. It's weird."

"Well, glad to see you back among the living, my friend," Ivar said, reaching out to clasp on to Angus' arm. The injured knight returned the gesture with a thankful smile.

"Indeed it is," said the king as he, too, entered. Deirdre was just behind him. Rohan came to his feet and everyone made way for him to approach. "And we're going to have a talk later about leaving on your own while seriously injured."

Angus looked a little confused at Conchobar's presence, as if surprised that he was there. For a moment, he cast about, as if trying to find a way to stand up, but Conchobar put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back to the pillows again.

"No no," said the king, "not this time. You are to remain right where you are until Cathbad gives you leave to rise and not a moment before. Consider that a royal command. No leaving the castle while you're still bleeding, this time."

Angus gave an abashed grimace and settled back again. "Well, I'm pretty sure the ground would heave me over, anyway."

"Well, Cathbad, I trust you haven't given away the surprise in my absence," Conchobar said, looking over at the Druid somewhat conspiratorially.

"Indeed not, my king, I know you wanted to be here," Cathbad replied, then turned back to Angus, "that pendant of yours, Angus. Take another look at it." As Angus looked at the pendant again, Cathbad reached down and pointed to a rune that was prominently displayed in the center of the hammer-head. "That rune there is of particular interest. There were many clans of the Fianna, a long time ago. And this pendant is from one of the two largest and most powerful. The clan Cumhaill."

"No kiddin'," Angus said, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

"It was something of a stroke of luck," said Conchobar, "if not for its prominence, we might not have been able to find any reference. But it means you are no longer merely Angus of Kells. And it is right and proper that your king be the first to acknowledge you properly, Angus Dubh o Cumhaill, Mystic Knight of Earth."

Angus looked stunned for a long moment, almost confused even. He looked back down at the pendant, running his fingers over the clan rune in the center. "I have a clan," he breathed in wonder, "I have... a... a family." His look hardened after a moment and he closed his hand around the pendant. "And they're out there, somewhere. And I'm gonna find 'em one day."

"Well, until then, this family has your back," Rohan said reaching out to prompt their shared secret handshake. Angus answered it back automatically, but there was a deeper look of gratitude on his face than usual.

"Hey wait, hang on," Angus said, as a realization suddenly hit him, "Angus Dubh? Where'd you hear that?"

"Cet called you that," said Ivar, puzzled, "come to think of it, I'd never heard that before."

"No and there's a reason," Angus said, "I haven't gone by that in years. It's what Brighde used to call me. I hate that name. Makes me sound like some kind of villain."

"Well, we'll be sure to keep it, then," Deirdre said, giving a smirk.

Angus gave an exasperated moan, flopping his head back into the pillows in defeat. There was a chorus of chuckles all around. And somehow, that restored a sense of normalcy to the world once more.


	4. Notes

Turns out, I have too many notes to actually put them in as notes.  They're spoiler-riffic, so I needed to put them all at the end anyway...

* * *

 

So there you are! Thanks for reading! I'm under no delusions that this is going to get a lot of attention, being as the fandom is tiny at this point. So please be aware that any feedback you can give is precious as gold and will be greatly treasured.

This was the result of a very old plot bunny of about twenty years of age. So, older than most _acutal_ bunnies. Back in the day, it was not very clearly worked out, which is probably why it didn't get written until now. This actually bears very little resemblance to the original plot bunny, since 20 years ago I was a silly fifteen-year-old girl without a clue. My historical nerding and ability to do research is what finally really brought this thing to light. It just didn't have a chance, back in the day.

And, while working on this, it bred some other plot bunnies that I might try to nuture in the future. Not sure, yet. We'll see if they come together.

Now, excuse me while I nerd this out...

Because I'm a huge nerd, I went digging around in Irish mythology for some stuff. I've made a few assumptions on stuff that was never clearly established in the show itself, so I thought I would make a few notes here.

Regarding Emain Macha...

The show never gave a name for the village that was in the shadow of Kells Castle. I wanted to have one and the Ulster Cycle calls the town that Conchobar mac Nessa rules from Emain Macha. Plus, I liked the story of the way the town got its name. So I stole it and ran like Macha in the horse race. Nothing too ground-breaking here.

I went and got down and nerdy with the characters's names and some side-stories, too. It's always kind of bothered me that none of them had full, period style names (because, like I said, I'm a nerd). Deirdre and Conchobar would certainly have had something more than just a given name, as would Ivar. Rohan and Angus are somewhat more open to interpretation, so I put my own spin on it. Plus, I'm in the SCA, so I just couldn't help myself while digging through medieval Irish names.

Regarding the name Rohan Draganta Ban Ui Meith Macha...

The conceit of Rohan's clan name is that he is descended from the war goddess Macha. This distinction would have come from his father's side of the family, ostensibly a Kellsman. Draganta I threw in there as a sort of "middle name" because it would have been in there somewhere, but I'm just not sure how it would have been lenited, since as far as I can tell it's not actually an Irish name.

When you get right down to it, Rohan is basically CuChullain, who was not born with that name and only was called that after defeating a giant hound (see Tash Hound of Temra, and may other references throughout the show). As a young boy, since no one in the village knew anything about his epic destiny, he was called by the villagers of Emain Macha "Rohan Ban" meaning "Rohan the fair" because of his hair. The moniker stuck, even after he finds out his identity as the Warrior Draganta.

Regarding the name Deirdre inghean Conchobair Ui Rudhraighe...

There isn't a whole lot here that needs to be explained. This is a straight up lineage type of a name. It basically says that she's Conchobar's daughter, who is in turn a male descendant of a man named Rudraige. This clan name is derived from a high-king of Ireland, Rudraige, whose son was a king of Ulster (or in this context, Kells). I never actually got around to actually using the name in the fic, but it's here in the notes for completeness' sake.

In my head, Deirdre's mother was named Eithne. She was killed by Maeve when Deirdre was a little girl. Don't know why that's relevant. But there you are.

The show pretty much tossed out the actual Irish mythology of Deirdre and Conchobar. Trust me, this is a good thing. The Conchobar of myth was a real creeper and what he did to the Deirdre of myth was unsettling and I'm pretty sure illegal in modern life (and no, I don't just mean killing her husband; that's DEFINITELY illegal). So I pretty much tossed out anything of the names of the characters from myth and more or less treated them as new characters with their own backstories.

Regarding the name Angus Dubh o Cumhaill...

Angus effectively equates to Conall Cernach, the best friend of CuChullain.

In my fic, he is a descendant of Cailte mac Ronain, nephew of the last king of the Fianna, through his son Oisin. In actual Irsh myth, Conall and Cailte were not related (in fact, one is from the Ulster Cycle and the other from the Fenian Cycle and here I've even reversed their time periods), but a relating of the two characters is used for story purposes, because what the hell? The show didn't care about that stuff, either.

All of this was on his mother's side of the family. His mother's brother, Cet mac Magach, was told by a druid that the baby would one day kill his uncle. Cet was afraid of this and tried to kill Angus shortly after he was born. This is based on the story of Conall and Cet from Irish myth, but around there is where the similarities end and artistic licence takes over. When Cet did not succeed, he fled to Temra. Angus' mother and father then left him with an old lady named Brighde in Emain Macha to hide him from any further attempts on his life by Cet. This is why he was basically brought up as a street urchin along side Rohan.

The old lady gave him the moniker Dubh because of his dark hair. But Angus never really liked it, so he didn't perpetuate it after Brighde died. The fact that Cet refers to him as such is the result of a very old rumor finally making its way to Cet after many years.

The story Angus tells of besting the soldier Anluan is based on the Tale of Mac Da Tho's Pig. In that, Conall wins the debate by casually tossing Anluan's freshly-severed head to Cet. I uh... toned it down, just a smidge.

Conall kind of has a history of severing heads. I pretty much left that out. It didn't exactly say "Angus" to me...

Regarding the name Ivar ibn Idris Adar as-Salar...

No, you didn't miss this name, either. Again, never got around to using it in the fic. But it was a fun excersise.

The idea for Ivar is that he is a prince in pre-Muslim Syria. He is the son of Idris, a prince, of the clan Salar. In that culture, the title of Prince has a different connotation. Ivar's father is not necessarily a king and Ivar will not necessarily succeed him. In fact, given that it was his task to guard the silver chalice, and that he was sent to retrieve it, and that he was free to pledge help to Rohan and Kells, it seems likely that he is a younger son of a local prince, under a sultan, and not likely to inherit.

Random note, Ivar is NOT a Syrian name and is most likely a derivation of the Scandanavian name Ivor. Why the show didn't go ahead and find an actual name of the type of heritage that Ivar was clearly supposed to have, I really don't know and I was rather disappointed to learn. But Ivar isn't terribly glaring in its ethic displacement, so I ran with it and chose a name sort of like it for his father in order to help it fit in.

Finally, in reference to the title of the fic...

Yes, I am aware that the term "hedge knight" first showed up in the Song of Ice and Fire series. However, that wasn't what inspired the title of this fic. Rather it was a fantastic song I heard around a campfire in the SCA. I know the bard in question as Lady Cobflaith (she's a really awesome person with a lot of talent!). The song itself has very little to do with the plot of the fic at all, but it did introduce me to the idea of a penniless knight and the idea that someone who might not seem to others to be worthy can do great things, even if only in the eyes of the few or the one.

Oh, and one more note. Mace fighting is weird and hard to write. A sword girl like me, who depends on keeping covered and breaking tempos, can't wrap her head around a weapon that works with a rhythm and leaves parts of the wielder open to thrust attacks at regular intervals. So, those bits probably kind of sucked and I'm sorry.

_Sláinte!_


End file.
